


Faking It

by CassidyStark



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexual John, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Sherlock, John is a Good Friend, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Pansexual Character, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Sherlock is a Brat, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2018-11-22 16:50:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11384340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassidyStark/pseuds/CassidyStark
Summary: Sherlock's family is pressuring him to find a lover. In time for their family vacation to their summer cabin, Sherlock forms a plan to pretend John is his boyfriend. Things soon become complicated by murder and emotions. (Story currently on hiatus)





	1. One

John walked into the living room, smiling and shirtless, fresh out of the shower. He sat in his chair and checked his email from his cell phone. Sherlock could see the screen from where he was standing holding his violin. He didn't often see John shirtless and his eyes were drawn to the scars adorning his damp skin. There were scars from war and scars from life, all part of John and his story- none taking away from his good looks. The one he stated at the most was higher up. It had faded some now but was still visible on the right side of his face. This scar too didn't take away from his good looks but it always made Sherlock feel something unusual deep in his gut. Regret? Guilt? These were emotions he was not very accustomed to.

John had earned that scar in a fight. Sherlock was outside a bar late one night, a little drunk, and as usual he didn't know when to keep his deductions to himself. The strong tattooed stranger hadn't taken so kindly to being told his fiance was cheating on him. John, ever the loyal best friend, had stepped between him and the stranger and attempted to diffuse the situation. The stranger was aggressive and violent and he tried to hit Sherlock. John protected him, instantly jumping into action. For defending Sherlock and his foolishness, he was left with a permanent mark. It was a permanent reminder that Sherlock had fucked up and gotten his friend hurt. It was a permanent reminder of what happened when you got too close to Sherlock Holmes.

John never resented him for that night, never blamed him or held any grudges. John was a good man and Sherlock couldn't ask for a better friend.

He looked at John now and a bit of that guilt was hitting him again as he prepared to ask John for a rather large favor. Better to get it over with as quickly as possible. "John?" He questioned.

"Yes?" John put his phone down and gave Sherlock his full attention.

"I need you to be my boyfriend," he announced.

John raised an eyebrow at him, looking understandably startled. "No, thank you?" 

"I meant, I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend," Sherlock clarified. 

"What? Why?"

"I know it sounds crazy but I have a good reason," he tried to assure his friend.

"What good reason could you possibly have?"

Sherlock sat on the couch and prepared to explain. "My family," he said. "They will not stop harassing me about finding a suitable romantic partner. My parents and my brother are forcing me on a vacation with them, to one of our summer homes on a lake in America. I wanted them to stop pestering me, distracting me from cases, so I told them I have a partner."

John sighed. "What a mess..." He probably thought Sherlock should find a real romantic partner as well, but he was too sympathetic to say so even though it had been two years now since his former lover Irene had been murdered.

“Agreed.” Sherlock couldn’t deny that it was one huge mess but he didn’t see a much better way out of the situation.

“Why me?” John asked. “Why not ask someone else?”

“I don’t have anyone else.”

Sherlock didn’t have friends, he only had one- John Watson.

John sighed again. “Can I say no?”

What a silly question. “Yes, of course you can.”

“Give me a good reason I should say yes,” he challenged.

Sherlock didn’t hesitate. He had been thinking this over for a while now. “Because you care about me. And because if you say yes, then this is a free vacation for you.”

“Your family would really be happy to think that you and I were together romantically?”

Sherlock nodded. “My family loves you. You know that.”

“Won’t they look at me strange after we break up? They might not love me so much then.”

“I’ll tell my parents that simply decided we’re better off staying friends.”

“We’d have to think up a whole story, about when and how we started dating. All of those details. Or it wouldn’t be believable.”

“Details don’t matter as long as they’re happy.”

If they were happy, they would leave him alone. That’s what Sherlock wanted. In his opinion, he had better things to focus on than finding a romantic partner. Besides, who could ever be more perfectly suited for him than Irene? It was useless to try to replace her.

John frowned, silent and lost in thought.

Sherlock lay on his stomach and buried his face in a pillow. Maybe this was a mistake, a foolish idea. He shouldn’t have brought it up. John probably thought he was an idiot. His voice was muffled by the pillow as he asked “Do you think I’m pathetic?”

“No,” John said firmly. “I wouldn’t think that. I… understand why you’d want to do this. And it’s not a completely crazy idea. It might actually work.”

Sherlock brightened up a bit then, sitting up to face John. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Sherlock was hopeful. Was this really happening? Were they really going to do this?

“When would we be leaving for this vacation?” John asked. “I’ll need to notify some people that we’ll be gone, especially Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson.”

“This Friday,” Sherlock answered.

“That’s only three days away, not much notice.”

Sherlock shrugged, offering as much of an apology as he was often capable of.

“Tell me, what exactly do you need? What will I have to do?”

Sherlock wasn’t sure. Romanticism was something that he struggled with. His relationship with Irene had been unique. He wasn’t sure what might convince his family that he and John were happily involved as lovers. Mycroft would especially be difficult to convince. John was probably more experienced in the ways of being romantic and dating rituals. “We must act like we’re in love,” he said simply.

“We’ll probably have to hold hands,” John said. “And flirt.”

“I can deal with that.”

“We have to hug often and be very happy. That will make us look like we’re boyfriends.”

Boyfriends… it was so strange to hear that term but he would have to get used to it. He didn’t think his parents would question it too much. They knew that he and John spent almost every moment together since they’d met. They liked John very much. And they knew that Sherlock identified as pansexual. He was attracted to people for who they were rather than their gender, something he’d figured out as a teenager and discussed openly with his family who were fortunately supportive. They wanted him to be happy and thought that it would take a romantic partner to make him happy. It was silly. But he would let them believe that he’d found what they wanted him to find. It was easier than arguing about it all the time.

“Are you sure you’re ready for all this?” John asked him.

Sherlock nodded slowly. “Yes, are you?” Affection and being romantic did not always come easy to him but with John it would be easier to fake. They knew each other well and were comfortable with each other. It was why John was the only one he could pull this off with.

John grinned. “I think I can handle it. You’ve put me through worse.”

There was the guilt again. But he quickly remedied it, reminding himself that John was at least getting a nice vacation out of their deal.

“Yes, well… “ Sherlock said, trailing off awkwardly.

“You’re lucky, you know. I wouldn’t do this for just anybody.”

Sherlock gazed at his crime solving partner and best friend. He couldn’t imagine a better man to have by his side every day. “I know,” he agreed. He was indeed very lucky.


	2. Two

The cabin was very secluded on a large piece of land bordered by trees and a huge lake. It was built of logs and resembled more of a mansion by the size of it. The water sparkled in the sunlight and birds sang happily. The sun was shining and the air was incredibly humid. John ditched his usual jumper for a short sleeved polo shirt. Sherlock abandoned his coat and rolled the sleeves up of his shirt to his elbows, leaving the top buttons undone. 

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes greeted them cheerfully. Mycroft had already arrived and was sitting on a swing on the large wraparound porch. He wasn’t swinging, just scowling at his cell phone.

Sherlock was quick to get John inside, insisting that they needed time to unpack and settle in before answering questions his parents were sure to have regarding their love life. John gave a polite smile and reciprocated warm hugs before following Sherlock up the staircase to the bedroom they would be occupying. The décor was rustic, matching the rest of the cabin. There was a window seat overlooking the lake, a big bed with a wooden hand carved bed frame and plaid bedding, and a painting of a moose on the wall. John had been on camping trips, but none like this before.

“We’ll have to share this bed,” Sherlock said, stuffing his clothes and belongings into an oak dresser. He was a little nervous now that they had arrived and he couldn’t avoid facing his parents. He hoped his story could hold up even to Mycroft or he’d never be able to live down making up such a silly plan. It would be humiliating. He yearned for a cigarette but couldn’t let his parents catch him smoking. He was trying to make a good impression on them.

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” John said, chuckling. There were a lot worse things than having to share a bed with Sherlock.

Sherlock had never shared a room with John, especially not a bed. This also made him nervous, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he was afraid of.

John put his things in the closet and gave Sherlock a reassuring smile. He had gotten a lot better over the years at deciphering some of Sherlock’s moods and he as apparently picking up on Sherlock’s anxiety currently. There was no one else Sherlock could do this with, no one else he could endure this vacation with and pretend to be romantically involved with. John was his best and only friend. There was no one better suited for this task than him. There was no one Sherlock could lean on in the same way. He was so grateful to John for accepting this crazy idea of his. 

“They’re going to ask a lot of questions,” Sherlock warned him.

“I know,” John said, nodding. “I’m prepared.”

Sherlock really hoped that was true because he had no idea what he would say about their pretend relationship. John had more experience in this type of situation and he would let John lead here.

They made their way to the dining room where Mrs. Holmes had set up a feast for dinner. There was freshly baked bread, venison, salads, fish, fresh vegetables, and pies for dessert. “Help yourself to the food,” she told John.

They all sat and had a family meal, much to Sherlock’s displeasure. Mycroft didn’t look too happy either. He frowned a lot and kept looking skeptically at John. It was actually quite rude but John seemed unaffected by it, probably used to Mycroft’s attitude by now. Mycroft was always analyzing him since the start. John understood this to be protectiveness. Mycroft loved his brother more than anything and Sherlock often times did require people to look out for him. This was not a fact that Sherlock himself would like to admit. Instead he passed his older brother’s behavior off as annoying and unnecessary.

“When you said you’d found someone, a lover, we didn’t think that it would be John,” his father said.

“Not that it’s a problem,” his mother was quick to add. “We adore John. The two of you are so perfect together. It makes sense that you would be a good couple.”

Sherlock watched in amusement as John easily lied to his parents. He smiled as he told them about how he and Sherlock had grown closer over time and eventually realized their romantic feelings for each other. “Sherlock’s stubborn and he’d never be the first to admit his feelings,” John explained, chuckling. “I knew I’d have to make the first move.” His mother laughed along with John, clearly believing his tale. “We’d both been drinking a little one night to celebrate solving a difficult case. It was during a game of cluedo. He was rambling on about the rules of the game and I couldn’t listen to it anymore. I shut him up with a kiss. I confessed my feelings afterword and we’ve been together ever since.”

“Unconventional, but sounds like my son,” his mother smiled fondly. She seemed so happy to think that he’d settled down romantically. Sherlock couldn’t understand why his love life was so important to her. At least, she believed their charade.

Mycroft made a face at them and Sherlock couldn’t tell whether he was so easily convinced about this new relationship.

“I wasn’t aware that you were interested in men,” Sherlock’s father said to John.

Sherlock sighed loudly, letting everyone know that he was annoyed.

Sherlock’s father suddenly seemed to think better of such a personal question regarding John’s sexual orientation and apologized sheepishly. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay,” John reassured him. “I don’t often talk about my sexuality but I’ve always been attracted to both men and women. I’ve had relationships with both.”

Sherlock already knew this about John of course.

“You two seem so happy together,” his mother said.

“I am,” John agreed immediately. “I’m a really lucky guy. Sherlock isn’t like anyone else I’ve ever met. He’s incredible. And he’s really pretty, that helps too.”

Once again John had his parents laughing with him. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mycroft made a quiet disgusted sound as if their relationship repulsed him.

“Be careful,” his mother joked. “Don’t give him a bigger ego than he already has.”

Sherlock sighed again, growing tired of this whole conversation. He’d much rather be back at his flat, working on an important case. This was all so dull.

After dinner, Mycroft waited until they were not within hearing range of their parents before he approached his brother and John.

“You expect me to believe that you and John have been romantically involved for months now without me noticing,” he said.

“Yes, it’s true,” Sherlock insisted. “Just because you failed to notice, doesn’t make it untrue. Maybe your powers of deduction are slipping, dear brother. It’s probably your old age.”

Mycroft scoffed at that. “I am no idiot, brother mine. I am just as capable of making deductions as I always have been.”

“John and I are together,” Sherlock repeated. “Perhaps you’re jealous. You should find yourself a suitable romantic partner.”

Mycroft seemed a little caught off guard now. “I don’t-“

Sherlock interrupted him. “We’re going to bed now. Go harass someone else. Goodnight, Mycroft.”

He grabbed John’s hand and tugged him along to their bedroom before his brother could say anything else to them.

Sherlock was feeling uneasy and a bit stressed after his interaction with his brother. Maybe it was foolish to believe that this would work. He wouldn’t be able to convince Mycroft and his brother would ruin this completely. His parents would be angry that they were lied to and never stop harassing him. He’d never be left alone with peace of mind to focus on his cases and things that truly mattered. This whole trip was going to be miserable. Vacations seemed like a good idea in theory, but never turned out as well as one hoped.

“Don’t worry,” John said, once again picking up on Sherlock’s anxiety. Was it that obvious?

“Mycroft will never believe this,” he told John.

“Yes, he will. We’re just going to have to work a little harder to convince him. We can do it. I know we can.” He sounded very sure of himself and it eased some of Sherlock’s worries. He trusted John. John had already convinced his parents, he would convince his brother too. It could be done. Mycroft would believe this. He had to.

“Are you upset that I’m making you do this?” Sherlock asked him.

“You don’t make me do anything,” John replied. “Besides, it’s not really a big deal. I don’t mind helping you out.”

He made it all seem so simple. Maybe Sherlock was stressing over nothing.

“Tomorrow we will have to act like a couple to convince Mycroft. I don’t want it to be awkward for you.”

John laughed. Sherlock liked the sound of John’s laughter. “I can handle it. I promise.”

Sherlock made his way into the bathroom attached to their bedroom. There was a large mirror above the sink with leaves etched into the sides. The bathroom also contained a big shower with a frosted glass door and a towel rack made of brass that resembled antlers.

He realized that he’d somehow forgotten to pack his own toothpaste and decided to borrow John’s. It tasted of cinnamon which was an interesting contrast to Sherlock’s preferred mint flavor. If he actually had to kiss John to make this relationship believable, is this how his mouth would taste? That didn’t seem appropriate to think about so he quickly finished up preparing for bed. He dressed in a tee shirt and silky pajama pants.

John was already in bed, wearing athletic shorts and an old army tee shirt. “This bed is really comfortable,” he said happily.

Sherlock smiled a little, unable to help himself. He was feeling much calmer now, trusting John to make this all work out. Things usually did work out when he trusted John. They worked well together on cases and could make this work too.

“Goodnight, John,” he said, turning his back to John.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” John replied. “Get your rest. We have a big day tomorrow.”

Sherlock could not be sure what the day would contain in the morning but for now he did his best to get some sleep. He found that sleep came surprisingly easy, exhausted from the interaction with his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all the feedback! Thank you. I hope you like this chapter.


	3. Three

When Sherlock awoke in the morning, he was surprised to find he wasn't at home and that there was someone sleeping beside him. He quickly remembered that he was on this awful family vacation and that he and John were pretending to be lovers in order to appease his parents. He groaned and rolled onto his side, gazing at John.

John was currently laying on his stomach, face buried in a pillow. He looked peaceful and warm. sunlight bathed the room and Sherlock was grateful for the air conditioning. 

"John?" He asked.

"I'm sleeping," came John's mumbled reply.

Sherlock couldn't help but chuckle. "No, you're not," he said. He stretched and yawned, not used to getting so many hours of sleep in one night. He was known to go days without sleep when he was consumed by an interesting case. "I'm going to shower," he informed John. "You may help yourself to breakfast in my absence."

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" John asked him, sitting up against his pillows.

"Not right now. I have more important things to attend to." With that he grabbed some clean clothes and hurried off into the bathroom, eager for a moment of peace alone.

John lingered in bed leisurely for a few moments before going in search of food. He found a large breakfast waiting in the dining room complete with Belgian waffles, fruit, and fresh squeezed Orange juice. He made casual conversation with Sherlock' s parents, avoiding Mycroft who was busy with an important phone call on the porch. He showered and dressed then tracked down Sherlock, finding him outside reading a book sitting under a large tree overlooking the lake.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Trying to keep my mind sharp," Sherlock replied.

"Take a break," John suggested. "Try to enjoy this vacation at least a little bit."

Sherlock made a face at John, letting him know he found that idea to be ridiculous.

John sighed and wiped a hand across his forehead. "It's hot as balls out here."

Sherlock again made a face. "Really, John..."

John gazed out at the lake, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. "Come swimming with me," he said.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the suggestion. "What?" Perhaps it was a joke and he wasn't understanding the humor. That sometimes happened to him with certain people, though he and John usually did a good job of understanding each other.

"Don't you want to come swimming with me?"

Oh, he was serious... "In the lake?"

John grinned. "Yes, in the lake. Haven't you ever swam in a lake before? It'll be fun."

Sherlock had not swam in a lake since he was a child. "No, I can't," he said awkwardly, shaking his head.

"Why not?" John looked so disappointed. "You do know how to swim."

"Yes, well..." He couldn't actually come up with a good enough reason to avoid swimming, not one that would satisfy John anyway. And maybe he just didn't want to see John looking so disappointed in him anymore. "Fine. I'll swim with you."

John changed in their shared bedroom while he changed in the bathroom. He had not brought any swim suits but his parents had already stocked some in the cabin for him in his size. John thought that this was a thoughtful gesture. Sherlock found it annoyingly overbearing.

He took his time getting into the lake while John dove right in. The water was chilly on his warm skin and soft mud squished under his feet unpleasantly as he waded in up to his waist. 

"At least there are no leeches in here," John commented, floating peacefully on his back.

Sherlock simply rolled his eyes in response. He watched as John swam around, exercising his strong muscles. He looked perfectly happy and appeared to be truly enjoying this. Sherlock liked seeing him happy and it made him feel better about dragging John on this trip.

By the time Sherlock' s parents invited them inside for lunch, they had both sufficiently cooled off. They ate sandwiches and drank lemonade while Mycroft glared at them skeptically. John was in such a good mood he didn't seem to notice that he was being analyzed.

They changed back into regular clothes. Sherlock was just about to pull his shirt on when John walked into the room, fully dressed. "Sherlock!" He exclaimed. "You're all sunburned."

The detective sighed. "Yes, I'm aware of that, John."

"Let me help you," he said, reaching for some aloe lotion. "This will help."

Sherlock shook his head. "I'm fine," he insisted.

"Its the least I can do after forcing you to swim with me. Don't make everything so difficult."

They sat together on the bed, Sherlock's back facing John. 

"You're so pale. I should have thought to grab the sun block." 

John was already beginning to gain a nice golden tan. Sherlock didn't tan, just burned. He wouldn't forget the sun block next time. But it did feel nice having John rub the lotion onto his back and shoulders. It was cool and soothing to his burned skin. He didn't usually like it when people touched him, but with John it was okay. It didn't bother him at all to be affectionate with John. It was easy being his friend. He didn't have to think too much about it or work too hard at it. He closed his eyes and truly relaxed for a few moments, tension fading from his body and his mind stopped racing. He didn't think about any cases or about his family, just enjoyed John's comforting touch.

At dinner, Mycroft was asking a lot of questions about their relationship. Sherlock was tense and no longer able to relax, frustrated by his brother's behavior and worried their plain would be ruined. Thank goodness John was handling it well, thinking fast and coming up with believable answers. 

"We would have told you all sooner," John was saying. "But you know how Sherlock likes his privacy. It's probably why it took so long for us to confess our feelings to each other. It happened slowly, the shift from friends to something more. I had to realize what I truly felt for him and admit to myself first. And then it wasn't easy because I didn't to risk ruining our friendship. He's still my best friend and now my boyfriend too. I'm really lucky to have found that. He makes me happy."

John was smiling and lying with such ease that it was almost frightening. Sherlock was proud of him. Perhaps some of his master manipulation skills had rubbed off on John.  
Sherlock' s parents were so very pleased to hear all of these lies. Mycroft was still frowning.

After dinner, Sherlock whispered to John. "I don't think convincing Mycroft is going to be as easy as I'd hoped."

"Don't worry," John assured him. "I have a plan."

Sherlock didn't get a chance to question John about this plan. Mycroft was walking back into the dining room now for dessert.

John leaned in close and whispered "I'm going to kiss you now."


	4. Four

Sherlock didn't have much time to process John's statement before the distance closed between them. John's lips were surprisingly soft pressed gently against his own. His heart was racing. John Watson, his best and only friend, was kissing him. Then John pulled back as Mycroft cleared his throat. The sound startled him and he felt embarrassed. 

"Am I interrupting something?" Mycroft asked.

"Not at all," John said, grinning. "We were just kissing. I hope that doesn't bother you."

"No, of course not," Mycroft said slowly, clearly unsure what to believe.

Sherlock felt triumphant, enjoying the rare sight of his confused older brother. They were going to win this. He was convinced of that now.

As he and John climbed into bed that night he told John "You're brilliant."  
John smiled in response. "You should tell me that more often. I like the sound of it."  
\---

In the morning, Sherlock woke to an empty bed. He yawned and stretched before climbing out of bed. He looked out the window, seeing the gray overcast sky. There was a breeze which would cut the dreadful suffocating humidity at least. It didn't look like it would be long before a storm would be rolling in.

He trusted that John was fully capable of taking care of himself wherever he may be. He had seen John repeatedly handle himself extremely well around his family so there was no real need to worry. He took a long shower, giving himself time to think in peace. Once he was dressed for the day, he grabbed a bagel and went in search of John.

John was outside busy gathering the perfect wood and kindling for building a campfire. "Why are you doing that?" Sherlock questioned him. "We don't need a fire for anything."

John shrugged in response. "It's just one of those things you do when you go camping. It's fun."

Sherlock did not see what was so fun about it. And did it really count as camping if you stayed in a cabin? He decided not to ruin John's fun though. He stayed quiet and watched John. He didn't have much else better to do with no cases to work on.

He made a face as John found a stick that he peeled and used to hold hotdogs that he roasted over the fire for lunch. He doubted it was very sanitary but held back any rude comments and even ate one of the hot dogs just to make John happy. He owed John for playing along as his lover and dealing with his horrid older brother the whole time.

As he ate with John, the sky above them continued to darken with the approaching storm and Sherlock lost himself in thought.  
Why did his parents care so much about his love life? Couldn't they understand that he'd never find someone as perfectly matched for him as Irene. She was The Woman and there would never be another. That was the last time he'd truly been happy and it had ended so badly. Happiness was a frightening thing. Sadness was comfortable. Alone protected him. Caring was not an advantage, his brother was right about that at least.

He remembered her funeral vividly. Her coffin was shut with a picture of her beautiful face beside it. She'd been shot and he'd identified her body.That was a sight he would never be able to delete from his memory. It had been raining the night he got the call about her death, a cold and dreary day that was endlessly miserable. But the day of her funeral had been ordinary. The sun shone brightly and he stayed in the back of the crowd with John and his brother to comfort him as best they could.

The truth is, time did not heal all wounds. He learned to live without her. He had to. But he would never heal from her loss, a part of him would always be missing. His life was forever changed and he thought of her constantly. Grief hung like a dark cloud above him forever now.

John pulled him from his rather depressing thoughts, suggesting they take a walk together along the lake shore. It seemed like something a couple might do and since they were pretending to be a couple he agreed to accompany John.

By the time they returned to the cabin, rain was beginning to fall. "Hurry! It's raining, Sherlock!" John exclaimed, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him quicker towards the cabin.

"Brilliant deduction, John," Sherlock said sarcastically. "I assure you the rain won't hurt you."

"You're such an ass," John complained but he was chuckling a little as he said it. "Sometimes I don't know why I put up with you."

"I feel the same about you."

John laughed. "Good, I'm glad we established that."

They stopped bickering when they were greeted by an unexpected sight outside the cabin. There was a police vehicle pulling away just as they arrived. They quickly made their way inside and found the rest of the Holmes family having tea. John accepted a warm cup while Sherlock shook his head at the offer refusing despite his mother's instance that he would catch a cold being wet from the rain. "What is going on?" He demanded. "Why were the police here?" He turned to glare in his brothers direction. "What did Mycroft do?"

"It wasn't Mycroft," his father said. 

"Tell me what's going on or I'll go find out for myself!" What was his family hiding from him? This was ridiculous. He was getting extremely annoyed.

"A body was found in the woods not far from here," Mycroft informed him. "The police were spreading the word about a murderer in the area and asking questions regarding the crime."

His heart began to race. "A murder?" This vacation just got a lot more exciting. "They haven't caught the killer?"

"Leave it alone," his mother begged. "This is our family vacation. We all are supposed to be spending time together not chasing murderers. Leave it to the police to solve."

"The police are clearly incompetent," Sherlock told her. This was an excellent opportunity, finally something worthwhile to occupy his starving mind. This was exactly what he needed. He'd much rather solve crimes than spend time with his family anyway. "I'll have Lestrade put a call in to some of his American contacts and get us to the scene. Grab my coat, John."

John sighed but went to do as he was told. He knew that once Sherlock made up his mind about something like this no one would convince him otherwise.

Half an hour later, Sherlock and John arrived at the crime scene. The body had not yet been moved. John bit his lip, forcing himself to look at the details. He was used to seeing dead bodies after his time as a doctor and especially his time as ts crime solving partner. But the sight of this body was a little unexpected and it made him a bit uneasy.

The dead woman lay on her back under a tree. Her blonde hair was wet with rain, blood, and mud. She appeared to be around 30 years old, average height and weight. She must have been fairly pretty in life but now she was cold and lifeless, staring wide eyed in death. Some of her clothes were tossed carelessly on the ground nearby, a white blouse and lacy bra both stained with her blood. She was left wearing only a mini skirt and designer boots.

"This is the wound that killed her, inflicted with a hunting knife measuring approximately six inches," Sherlock deduced, gesturing at her slit throat. The wound was very deep and would have resulted in a fairly quick death and a lot of blood loss. "This wound took place after her death."

John lowered his gaze to the woman's chest which had been ripped right open. It was a complete mess. Why would someone do this?

"She was attacked from behind," Sherlock continued. "She wasn't expecting it."

John felt sorry for this woman. The killer needed to be caught before he did this to anyone else. Sherlock was right to take this case. If anyone could solve this it would be him. It couldn't be ignored. The killer could not go free.

When they got back to the cabin, the storm was in full swing. Thunder boomed loudly and lightning crackled outside. They had both changed into dry clothes and were sitting together playing chess. Periodically Sherlock received a text message with information about the murder. The autopsy had been conducted.

"I've been thinking..." Sherlock started.

"Obsessing," John corrected.

Sherlock frowned, unimpressed. The autopsy had revealed that there was no sexual component to the attack upon the woman, making him think there was a different reason she had been undressed. "I believe the killer was interrupted and left the scene before he could take what he truly wanted from her."

"What would that be?" John asked.

"Her heart," Sherlock answered.


	5. Five

John looked disgusted. "Why would someone want her heart?"

Sherlock sighed. "Could be any number of reasons, John."

"Could they be trying to sell it or something like that?"

Sherlock rested his chin on his fingers, his usual thinking pose. "Doubtful. This isn't one of those silly horror films you insist on watching every Halloween."

John scolded. "Those are perfectly good films. And if you''re so smart then you come up with a theory."

"A theory would require more information first otherwise it would just be a wild guess," the detective pointed out.

"Then how do we get more information?"

"First thing in the morning we go out and seek it."

John shrugged. "Whatever that means."

That night Sherlock was restless in his sleep. He dreamed that Moriarty had returned and was standing over him shouting "I'll burn the heart out of you!" and he reached his hand right into Sherlock' s chest and ripped his heart out. It was still beating in the criminal' s hand when Sherlock looked over and saw his brother standing nearby. Sherlock was falling in slow motion off the hospital rooftop and Mycroft said to him "You never loved John. It was all a charade."

Sherlock woke with a gasp, bolting upright and clutching his chest. His curls were damp with sweat and sticking to his face. 

"Sherlock?" John sounded sleepy and confused.

It was just a dream. Moriarty was dead. There were no threats lurking. Everything was alright, no cause for alarm.

"Just a dream," he said quietly.

"What was it about? Are you okay?"

"Moriarty," he answered. "I'm fine."

John put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Moriarty is dead. He can't hurt you."

"I know. I said I'm fine," he insisted.

"Go back to sleep," John encourage. "You need it."

Sherlock sighed. He didn't think he wanted to sleep. But a few minutes later John was asleep with his arm around Sherlock. If he was anyone else, Sherlock would have pushed him away. It was John though and it felt comforting to him. He soon fell asleep and thankfully he had no more nightmares.

In the morning they went out in search of information. John ate a bagel while Sherlock drove the rental car because they had rushed out the door and Sherlock had shouted "There's no time for breakfast, John! There's a murderer on the loose!"

Lestrade came through for them and they were soon sitting on a floral couch in a living room that looked like it hadn't been redecorated since the 1950's. or maybe the owner, a miss Eliza May, was into retro style. Based on her worn bellbottom jeans that was probably a true indicator of her style. She was best friends with the victim in the woods and they were there to ask her some questions.

"When's the last time you saw the victim?" Sherlock asked.

"She had a name," Eliza sniffled, dabbling her eyes and smeared mascara with a handful of crumpled tissues.

"I don't-" Sherlock started to complain.

John cut him off. "Yes, we're so sorry for your loss," he said to the woman. "When is the last time you saw your friend Penny?"

"The night she died. We work together, waitressing at the all night diner."

"Was she acting normally? Anything unusual? Did you two talk at all?" John was scribbling notes down on a notepad as they spoke.

Eliza shook her head. "Nothing unusual for her. She was talking to this new guy at the end of the night, flirting pretty hardcore. She flirted with a lot of guys, though. I didn't think much of it."

"What was his name?" Sherlock asked. "Can you provide a description of the man?"

"I don't know his name. He had his back to me the whole time so I didn't really get a good look at his face. He was tall, maybe 6'2" or 6'3" and athletic build, short dark hair."

John wrote it all down.

"What was he wearing?" 

"Boots, jeans, a camouflage jacket, and a baseball cap. Pretty typical of men around here, a lot of hunters, you know."

"Its not hunting season so what do you think he was hunting?"

The thought of Penny running through the woods as she was hunted like some animal sent chills down John's spine.

Eliza May simply shrugged. "Its not unusual."

They would have to take her word for it.

"Did you see if she left with the man?" John asked.

"She did. I tried to get her to come sleep at my place. She hadn't paid the rent for her apartment and was trying to avoid the landlord. She insisted that she was fine and wanted to go have some fun. I couldn't stop her. She was a grown woman."

After their conversation with Eliza May, they spoke with a deputy officer and the morgue. They reviewed crime scene photos and autopsy reports. By the time they arrived back at the cabin, it was time for dinner. John dug into his steaks and potatoes without hesitation, starved after a busy day with no time to eat.

"I wish you would leave this case alone," Mrs. Holmes said.

"Ridiculous," Sherlock said, shaking his head.

"John, can't you get through to him?" she pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Holmes, but no one can make Sherlock do anything. Not even me. He's stubborn." John finished off some freshly baked bread, some steamed vegetables, then devoured a piece of chocolate cake for desert.

They discussed the case together in the privacy of their bedroom. "We have to find the hunter she left with," Sherlock said.

"Maybe the landlord is the killer," John suggested. "Maybe he got so angry about the money she owed him."

"So he took her out to the woods and killed her? Don't be stupid. I need you to focus. This is a very serious matter, John."

"I am focusing," John insisted. "Why can't it be the landlord?"

Sherlock sighed. "Its not the landlord."

Sherlock studied the case until midnight when John literally dragged him to bed. The detective fell asleep laying on his side with John's hand resting on his back.


	6. Six

It was around noon and Sherlock and John were sitting together in a canoe. The lake was still and the sun shone brightly. John wiped a little sweat off his forehead with his hand. He made a pained face, tilting his head to hide it from Sherlock. But the detective saw it anyway because he always saw everything and he knew John very well by now.

"Your shoulder," Sherlock pointed out. "It's hurting you."

John had been shot in the shoulder during his time in the military. Rowing the canoe for so long had irritated the injury and though it was painful he was reluctant to admit it. He had been enjoying the peaceful boat trip out onto the lake and didn't want to ruin it. It had been Sherlock' s parents idea and it wasn't easy to convince Sherlock to go along. John reminded him that they had to do romantic things like this to keep up their charade and to keep his parents happy which had been the ultimate goal all along.

"I'm fine," John insisted.

"We'll go back now," Sherlock decided, leaving no room for argument. "My parents will understand."

John nodded. "Okay."

They made their way back to shore where Sherlock' s family was waiting for them. "They're staring at us," Sherlock complained.

John gave a mischievous grin. "Let's give them a show."

John's lips were suddenly pressed against his own. John was kissing him. He realized after a moment that he better kiss back if they wanted to make this believable.

John deepened the kiss and his hands tangled in Sherlock' s curls. "Oh..." Sherlock gasped slightly as John gave a gentle tug to his hair and it felt surprisingly good. John nipped playfully at the detective' s bottom lip before pulling back, smiling like he was proud of himself for the whole display.

Mycroft greeted them on shore with his arms crossed over his chest. He was practically pouting, unhappy with being proven wrong about their relationship, and it delighted Sherlock. He was winning. His family was tricked. It proved he was smarter than them all, even Mycroft. He grinned as he walked past his brother, taking John's hand in his own just to add to their whole act.

"You are brilliant," Sherlock told John as they made their way back to their bedroom. John sat on the bed and grinned.

"That's nice to hear for a change coming from you," he said before taking a drink from his bottled water to wash down some pain killers. He leaned back against the pillows, kicking his shoes off, and rubbed his shoulder. "You're actually a pretty good actor. If I didn't know better, I might actually believe you're into me." He chuckled at how absurd it was to think Sherlock would ever be 'into him'.

"Yes," Sherlock nodded. "Same goes for you."

The truth is, Sherlock was embarrassed by his reaction to the kiss. He needed better control over his body. He supposed it was natural for a human male to respond to certain types of stimulation in certain ways but that was not acceptable for him. It was certainly not acceptable when it was John Watson, his best friend, doing the stimulating as a part of an act. That's all this was, acting. He wasn't actually interested in John sexually or romantically nor was John interested in him that way either.

John was actually a very skilled kisser. He knew what to do and where to touch to get the best response. It was kind of impressive really. John was a doctor and knew the human body well. Or maybe it was just all the practice he had. John had several sexual romantic and sexual partners in his life time where as Sherlock only had one. He had Irene and no one could ever replace her.

John shrugged. "I just got caught up in the moment. That's all. If I was actually trying to get in your pants, it would have happened already."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that. "That's rather arrogant. What makes you so sure?" He sat next to John and attempted to help him massage his sore shoulder.

"I know you," John said. "It would be so easy." He leaned in like he planned to kiss him. It was startling, yet he couldn't pull away. Then John leaned back again and laughed.

"Are you making fun of me?" the detective snapped, pulling away from John in annoyance.

John reclined on the bed, smiling, at ease and apparently extremely proud of himself. Was this all so funny to him? "No, not all," he teased.

Sherlock frowned. "I'm happy I can provide such hilarious amusement for you."

John chuckled again. "I'm so glad we're not actually dating."

Now that was a little offensive. What was so funny? what was John implying anyway? He was not 'easy'. And contrary to what John may believe, he was actually a very good boyfriend. He and Irene had been perfect for each other and they were both very happy in their relationship. John didn't know what he was talking about.

Sherlock left John to his own devices. He took a shower and found it frustratingly difficult to focus. He kept thinking of John kissing him and all the rude comments he made afterwards. If anything he should be the one glad that he wasn't actually dating John considering that he was so rude.

He snuck out for a smoke when his parents weren't paying attention. He needed the nicotine to calm him down. His mind was racing and it was overwhelming. 

"Don't tell me you two had a lovers quarrel? And after such a passionate display on the lake?" Mycroft had appeared at his side, pouncing on his bad mood to make it worse. He was good at doing that.

"Go away, Mycroft. This is not a good time."

Mycroft sighed, and snatched the cigarette from him. He took a drag from it before passing it back. 

Sherlock frowned harder.

"Whatever is going on between you and John Watson, I am confident that you two will work it out," Mycroft said, surprising Sherlock. Was he actually trying to be nice? "You and John are... you make good partners."

For a while Sherlock was speechless. Finally he said "Thank you."

Mycroft nodded and headed back towards the cabin. "You'd better hurry, brother dear, before our parents come looking for you. You know how much they disapprove of you smoking."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but finished his smoke and followed his brother inside.


	7. Seven

"I have a surprise for you," John announced.

Sherlock yawned. He had not slept well, keeping his back to John the whole night and leaving as much space between them as possible. The truth is, he was still bothered by what John had said to him after their boat trip on the lake. He was seriously beginning to think that this was all a big mistake. Perhaps they should admit defeat, confess to the truth, and return home.

He had just woken up and John was already dressed and looking much too perky for it being so early still. "I do not like surprises," he said. 

"Please?" John asked. "It will be fun. I promise."

Sherlock was skeptical but agreed to go along with whatever John was planning.

"Wear something comfortable," John advised.

Sherlock was already dreading this.

He dressed and followed John on a trail through the woods alongside the lake. They both remained silent until Sherlock paused suddenly by a large hollow tree. "Bees," he announced.

"What?" John stopped and turned back to see what he was seeing.

"Bees made a nest inside this tree."

"Jesus," John said, automatically grabbing his friend by the wrist and pulling him back away from the nest. "Why are you always so fascinated by dangerous things?"

"Why are you?" He challenged.

"We're not talking about me," John said, dragging Sherlock back along the trail. "We're talking about you and your odd obsession with bees, despite the fact that you're allergic to them. I swear if any of those little flying death traps come near you I''ll..."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You'll what, John?"

"I'll punch them."

"The bees?"

"Yes."

They both laughed then and John released his hold on the detective so that they could walk freely together. Their destination happened to be a small wooden pier.

"Why did you bring me here?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm going to teach you how to fish."

Wasn't this surprise supposed to be enjoyable for him? It didn't sound like it would be. "Dull."

"Just try it," John encouraged. "What are you afraid of? Bears?"

Sherlock frowned. "There are no bears."

John showed Sherlock how to operate the fishing pole before they sat down beside each other and waited for fish to show up. Silence weighed heavy between them.

Sherlock thought about how he would much rather be home and how much of a stupid idea this whole plan had been. He would have to confess everything and he dreaded seeing his brother's smug face. He would leave the case in the hands of the American police. They would probably figure it out.

"Stop doing that," John complained.

"Doing what?"

"Thinking so much."

Sherlock felt a tug on his fishing line and looked out at the water. The red and white plastic bobber attached to his line dipped below the surface.

"What's happening?" Sherlock asked, turning to John.

"I think you've caught a fish!" John hurried over excitedly.

"What do I do?"

"Let's reel it in. I'll help you." John stood behind him, his chest against Sherlock's back, arms going around him and covering his own to help him reel in his line.The hook felt heavy as they slowly dragged it through the water towards the dock. Sherlock' s heart raced with excitement. He told himself he was excited about the fish and not by John's arms around him.

Finally they pulled the fish up out of the water. It was just a little fish with a spiky fin on its back. Not very impressive, but John was thrilled.

"A sunfish," he said. "Its your first time fishing and you actually caught one!"

"Of course," Sherlock replied, bending down and gently taking the fish off the hook. He placed the fish in the water where it promptly swam back away.

"You let the fish go," John said, sounding a little surprised.

"Yes, I did," he shrugged simply. What else was he supposed to do with the fish anyway? It was much too small to eat.

"Let's get back to the cabin," John suggested. "I'm hungry for lunch."

They didn't make it all the way back to the cabin before the call came. Another body had been found in the woods. The killer seemed to have struck again.

They raced to the scene. Sherlock's heart and mind were racing. A sense of purpose filled him. He would not stop. He would not go home until he found this killer.

The dead woman looked to be about 30 years old, petite, short Brown hair. She was wearing a denim jacket but her blouse and bra had been cut off of her. Her arms were stretched out straight at either side of her and her legs were pointing straight down tied together at the ankle by her own red silky scarf. Tennis shoes adorned her feet and still had on a pair of red shorts. Unlike the first victim, her eyes were closed.

"Strangulation marks on her neck," Sherlock pointed out the bruising inflicted by the killer's hands. 

John hadn't even noticed the bruising, too distracted by the large gash that sliced her throat open.

"The Strangulation figured first, the cut to the throat killed her. The following cuts were performed after her death."

John lowered his gaze to the huge cut that sliced her body open down the middle from the nape of her neck to her waistline. She lay in a horrifying pool of her own blood and guts. John had to force himself to keep looking. "Her heart is missing,"He said.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, it is. Everything else seems to be accounted for."

"You were right." John shivered a little, overcome by a sudden chill. "The killer is after their hearts."

"But why..." the detective mumbled to himself, deep in thought.

"Why is she posed like this?" John asked.

"I'm not positive."

Before they could leave the scene, Mycroft was calling Sherlock on a video call. He answered, annoyed and frustrated by the interruption. He pulled John away from the crime scene to speak to his brother.

"Quit messing around and get back to the cabin this instant!" Mycroft demanded. "Did you leave me alone with our parents just to punish me? That's really very cruel, even for you Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed. "Not everything is about you, Mycroft. We are at a crime scene and your interruption is incredibly inappropriate."

"Where's John?"

Hearing his name, John moved closer to be in view, wrapping an arm around Sherlock. "I'm here."

"Are you finished interrupting?" Sherlock asked. "I have important work to do."

Mycroft looked displeased. "Just hurry up."

"We will," John promised. "I've got him under control." 

John grinned and gave Sherlock a quick kiss on the cheek.

Mycroft continued to frown. "It would seem that you do. Goodbye then."

They ended the call and turned back to the scene just as an officer exclaimed "The killer left a note!"


	8. Eight

The note left by the killer wasn't exactly a note. It was actually a page ripped from a bible, stuck to a nearby tree with a rusty nail. One verse was circled in red ink- Matthew 15:19- 'For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, sexual immortality, theft, false testimony, slander.'

"Do you think the killer left that there?" John asked quietly, unable to tear his gaze away from the note.

"That would seem likely," Sherlock replied.

"What do you think it means? Is this the reason he took her heart? Are his murders motivated by murder?"

Sherlock gave a little shrug. "Could be."

John sighed, sounding slightly annoyed. "You must have a theory. Let me in on it."

Sherlock shook his head. "No."

"No, you don't have a theory? Or no, you don't want to let me in on it?"

"Shut up, John."

John sighed again. "You won't let me in. You're no fun. At least tell me what you think he's doing with the hearts."

"Probably keeping them as trophies," Sherlock suggested, just to make John happy. 

He found it difficult to think when John was asking so many questions.

"Right," John said, nodding in agreement. "I guess we better head back before Mycroft drags us to the cabin himself."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
\-----

Just after dinner, a call came from Lestrade. "What the fuck are you two up to now?" He demanded loudly as John put his cell phone on speaker so that they could both listen.

"What do you mean?" John asked, confused at what they had done to upset the other man.

"The article. Don't tell me you haven't seen it."

They hadn't seen any article so Lestrade gave them the web address, waiting while they looked it up. The article was written by a crime blogger and there was a picture of them at the crime scene this afternoon, clearly taken from quite a distance. They were just visible enough to see John kissing Sherlock's cheek. The headline for the article said 'World Famous Detective and Partner share a kiss while investigating murder.'

"This is an invasion of privacy!" John was appalled. "How did they even get this photo?"

"Why the hell are you kissing him?" Lestrade demanded.

"Its complicated," John answered.

"What's so complicated about it?"

"We were on the phone with Mycroft."

"John, mate, You're not making any sense."

Sherlock cut in. "I fail to see how my relationship with John is any of your business."

"Are you two in a relationship?" He sounded thoroughly confused.

"Its complicated," John said again.

"We have to go," Sherlock insisted. "This is my family vacation you are interrupting."

"Just watch out for crime bloggers," Lestrade pleaded.

"Will do," John promised.

After ending the call, they both got ready for bed. "I'm sorry," Sherlock apologized. "We'll set the record straight somehow after this vacation."

He hadn't meant for this to get out of hand. It was all supposed to stay between them and his family. It was never meant to leak out all over the internet. 

He was sort of used to people assuming he and John were a couple. It had been that way pretty much since the beginning. He was good at brushing it off. But now there was this picture and he worried how it might effect John. He wouldn't blame John if he was angry and regretted agreeing to this plan.

"Its okay," John assured him. "We'll fix it."

Before he could continue to apologize further, his parents knocked on their bedroom door and insisted they join them outside for yet another foolish camping tradoption. Sherlock was annoyed and didn't want to participate in such a waste of time.

"We have to," John told him. "Its something a real couple would do and find romantic."

Sherlock frowned. "Its not romantic. That's stupid."

"Just do it. This vacation will be over soon and then you won't have to do any of this anymore."

Sherlock reluctantly joined John and his parents outside by a camp fire. The night sky above them was clear and filled with bright stars. 

"Mosquitoes," Sherlock complained. "Probably full of viruses."

John chuckled. "I'm sure you won't catch anything from them. But just to be safe-" He snuggled up close to Sherlock so their sides touched and wrapped a blanket around both of them. 

John was warm and smelled like soap and that cinnamon flavor toothpaste he'd used after his shower this evening. The blanket covered most exposed skin, keeping many of the mosquitoes away.

"I love s'mores," John announced, showing Sherlock how to make them.

John roasted his marshmallow over the fire until it was golden brown, before sticking it between two Graham cracker pieces along with some chocolate. Sherlock was too impatient, choosing instead to burn his own marshmallow, lighting it on fire like a torch and blowing it out. This seemed to amuse John who pretended to find it appalling but couldn't keep from laughing. Sherlock was surrounded by the sounds of crickets chirping and the fire crackling and John's laughter. Maybe it wasn't such a bad way to spend an evening after all.

"Isn't this fun?" Sherlock's mother asked.

"Whatever," He said, pretending to hate it so that his parents didn't get the satisfaction of winning. 

"He's enjoying it," John assured them cheerfully.

His mother smiled. "Good."

Sherlock watched John lick marshmallow off of his fingers. 

"Sticky. Disgusting," he mumbled, but he was unable to look away.

"Fireflies," John announced suddenly, pointing towards the woods. 

There were so many of them, flying around lazily and lighting up. It looked like magic, like a scene from a movie. Sherlock found it oddly enchanting.

He relaxed against John, content to have John's strong arm wrapped around him beneath the blanket. He was warm and more at peace than he had been in such a long time. He didn't want that feeling to fade away.


	9. Nine

Sherlock had been staring at the pictures on his cell phone for over an hour now. When John finally awoke beside him, he immediately asked him "Do you think that Irene ever cheated on me?"

John looked confused at first then he chuckled. "Sure."

Sherlock frowned at him. This wasn't a joke. Could John ever stop being an idiot and take anything seriously? "Laughing doesn't make it a joke," he said.   
"I'm serious, John."

John's smile faded. "What do you mean? Why would you think that she cheated on you?"

"Because of this." Sherlock handed him his phone and the message he had received from Mycroft this morning. 

'Now that you have moved on with John, I think it's important that you know the truth.' That was all the message said but there were several pictures included. Pictures taken when Irene had been alive and unaware. Mycroft clearly had someone spying on her, an invasion of privacy but not a surprise. That was just how Mycroft was, he had to know everything but would claim he was just getting to protect his little brother. 

The pictures were shot at cafes and dark street corners and through hotel Windows. Irene was with strangers, men he'd never seen before. She was kissing them and naked in bed with them.

"How do you know these were taken when you two were together?" John challenged.

"Look closer," Sherlock instructed. He zoomed in on an image of Irene passionately embracing a half naked man. "She's wearing the ring I gave her."

"Oh... I'm so sorry, Sherlock." John put a comforting hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

Why had Mycroft kept this secret from him? Why tell him now? Did Mycroft want to hurt him?

"How did I not know?" He asked. "So stupid. She told me she got close to her clients and lead them on, but swore she didn't do anything real with them."

"You're not stupid, you're the smartest person I know. Maybe she just did that for work. Maybe it didn't mean anything."

"It did mean something!" Sherlock snapped."We meant something!"

"Of course you did."

Sherlock shook his head. "I thought we did. I thought I knew her, but I didn't. She had everyone fooled, even me."

"She was good at convincing people that she was someone else. And you loved her. People do say love is blind."

"People are idiots."

"You can't blame yourself."

"I thought she was honest with me, that I was the one person she told everything to. I have never been so wrong."

It was a double edge blade that stabbed him in the heart. Not only had Irene cheated on him, he also felt like a complete idiot when he prided himself on being so clever. He was such a fool for believing in love. He had thought Irene was his perfect mate and he'd been so happy living in ignorant bliss. Now he knew better. Love was not real.

"I'll never be so stupid again," he vowed.

"Sherlock, listen to me. You are not stupid." John looked him in the eyes, determined to get through to him. "You are brilliant. You are the best man I know. Irene was the idiot for not appreciating you and treating you the way you deserve. She was lucky to have you. But just because Irene was a witch, doesn't mean you still can't find love. You deserve to be loved and to be happy. I know it's hard to get your heart broken. It's happened to me, happens to everyone. But you can't give up. That's not an option." He pointed now at Sherlock's heart. "This can be repaired."

Sherlock wanted to believe him. It was a nice speech. John was a good friend. But at the moment he just felt broken. A whole part of his life was just a lie. How could he know what was true anymore? How could he trust himself even?

He took a shower, letting the water run hot enough to turn his skin red. He let a few tears fall before the shower washed the evidence away.  
When he finally walked to the dining area he found Mycroft there eating lunch. Anger flooded him and he burst. "Why would you do this?" He demanded. "Are you jealous of my happiness? Do you enjoy hurting me? You say you want to protect me but all you do is ruin everything!"

Mycroft had the audacity to look surprised. "I don't want to hurt you, I-"  
Sherlock didn't want to hear it. There was no excuse for this. "I'll never forgive you. I hate you."

"Little brother, don't-"

"Shut up!" Sherlock never wanted to hear another word from his sorry excuse for a brother.

"I never intended-"

"You're jealous because no one will ever love you."

And now Mycroft looked hurt but it felt good to Sherlock. He wanted his brother to feel hurt the same way he'd hurt him.

"You don't mean that. You''re-"

"I mean this, brother," he insisted. And he threw himself at Mycroft, punching him hard. It was incredibly satisfying to feel his fist crashing into his older brother's face. Before he could hit him a second time, John had inserted himself between them. His arms went around Sherlock, pulling him away. As he was dragged off by John, he got a glimpse of his brother wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.


	10. Ten

Sherlock's hand was swollen and John insisted on icing it. 

"I don't think Mycroft did this to hurt you," John said as they sat together on their bed, holding the ice pack on Sherlock's knuckles.

"Don't say that," Sherlock replied, frowning. He tried to pull his hand away but John caught him by the wrist. "Don't take his side."

"I'm not taking his side. He could have handled this situation a lot better. He shouldn't have sent you a text message. But I don't like seeing you so upset."

"This is all Mycroft's fault."

"He's still your brother. You don't really hate him."

"Are you sure you're on my side?" Sherlock snapped, miserable and bitter.

"Of course I am."

"Then shut up."

John gave him a sympathetic expression. That annoyed Sherlock too. It was just like John to be so nice to him even when he was being an ass and didn't deserve it. He felt entitled to be an add though because Mycroft was an even bigger ass. It was Irene who had hurt him the worst but she wasn't here so he had no choice but to take it out on his brother. After all, if it wasn't for Mycroft he would still be living in blissful ignorance believing in love.  
He lay on his side, facing the wall. When John snuggled up behind him and put an arm around him he didn't stop him.

\---

For two days, Sherlock stayed locked away in the bedroom, much to his parents dismay. They voiced through the closed door that they thought he was being ridiculous and ruining their vacation. He ignored them and played his violin instead. Mycroft even tried to apologize but it didn't sound as if he truly knew what he was apologizing for.

It was only with the news of another murder that Sherlock finally emerged from the bedroom.

A woman aged 29 with short Brown hair was found dead in the woods by a local man on his way to go fishing. She wore a ripped scarf, a pink coat unbuttoned to reveal a blue blouse, a short denim skirt, and one broken high heeled shoe.

"Not so bad," Sherlock said upon arriving at the scene, which earned him an elbow to the chest from John.

This woman's throat was slit but there were no other visible injuries. Her body had not been posed like the last victim either.

"She was pulled down to the ground by her scarf before her throat was cut," Sherlock observed.

"Is this the same killer?" John asked. "Why didn't he take her heart or leave another note?"

"He must have been interrupted," Sherlock suggested.

John looked at the woman, at the dirt on her knees from falling and the mascara stains on her cheeks from crying.

"That's her sister over there," a cop told them, pointing at a sniffling girl on the sidelines. 

The sister was five years younger and had been last to seen the victim alive. 

"My sister Ellie had been drinking," the girl explained. "I told her I had a headache and was turning in early. I was only at the bar because i was supposed to be her designated driver. I told her to take a taxi home and to be careful because I'd heard of a murder in the area. I was afraid but she laughed it off."

The girl started to sob and they had to wait for her to collect herself in order to continue. Sherlock sighed like he was annoyed but John encouraged her patiently. "Take your time."

She nodded and wiped her face with some tissues. "I used the restroom and when I walked past my sister on the way out, she was talking to some guy."

"Did you recognize the man?" Sherlock asked.

"No, I'd never seen him before. I don't think so anyway. I really only saw the back of his head."

"Can you describe him at all?"

"Short dark hair and he was wearing a hunting style jacket."

That seemed to confirm the identity of the killer. This was the same man.

"My sister was a total flirt so I didn't think anything of it. If only I took her home like I was supposed to, she would still be alive."

"You can't blame yourself," John assured her.

The two men discussed a few theories about the murderer on the way back to the cabin, sure to check that no crime bloggers were lurking nearby. Sherlock was silent as they ate dinner, glaring at Mycroft across the table. John carried the conversation cheerfully, careful to keep the topics neutral.

That night Sherlock dreamed he saw John talking to a man with short dark hair and a hunting jacket. When the man turned around it was Moriarty and he was smiling. 

Suddenly they were at the edge of a waterfall. "You will fall!" Moriarty shouted and he laughed as he pushed John over the edge of the waterfall.

"No! John!" Sherlock was running but it was too late. He kept running until he collided with a hunting knife Moriarty was holding out. It stabbed him in the heart and he gasped, clutching his chest. He helplessly watched as Moriarty walked away holding hands with a smiling laughing Irene.

"You idiot!" She called out to him. "Don't you realize I never loved you? No one will ever love you, Sherlock Holmes."

He woke up to John holding him tightly and telling him "It's just a dream. Everything's okay."


	11. Eleven

John was asleep wearing only his boxers and a t-shirt. The more nights they shared a bed, the more comfortable John seemed to become with this arrangement. Sherlock imagined John was used to sharing close quarters with other men after his time in the service, and probably didn't think much of being seen in his underwear. Back home at their apartment, John usually wore a robe and they didn't share a bed. 

Sherlock likes the comforting weight of the old quilt at night. But John seemed to get too hot beneath the blankets in the middle of the night, becoming restless, changing position as frequently, and inevitability kicking all blankets off. This meant that Sherlock usually woke feeling chilly and slightly vulnerable to see John lying peacefully on his back with his abs exposed due to his shirt sliding up.

This morning as he woke, the first thing he became aware of was the breath on his neck. He noticed the sensation of stubble lightly scraping his skin and the warmth of a body pressed against his own. It felt nice actually. But he didn't think that he was supposed to enjoy it. It seemed wrong somehow. This was not a lover embracing him in bed but his friend who was fast asleep and most likely unaware of his actions.

Still, his heart beat a little faster and he took a slow breath in an attempt to relax... to ignore John. He tried to disappear into his mind palace. He usually had much better control over his body but not today. Perhaps it had been too long since he'd allowed his body release in that way. But he simply could not allow himself to react now like this. John was here and that wouldn't be appropriate. It was shameful. If he let things become awkward between himself and John because of this stupid trip he would risk ruining their friendship. This whole situation was beginning to get out of control. He needed things to back to the way they were before he and John started sharing a bed.

"Morning," John said, startling Sherlock. He smiled, unaware of Sherlock's less than innocent thoughts.

"I'm going to eat," Sherlock announced abruptly. "I smell cinnamon buns."

John raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as Sherlock raced out of the room.

By noon Sherlock had forgotten about the awkward start to the day and reluctantly agreed to go into town with his parents and John. The idea of going on a shopping trip for souvenirs sort of made him want to puke but John insisted that this was necessary in order to keep up their charade. This vacation could not end soon enough.

Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes as his parents pointed out stuffed bears and colorful tee shirts and glossy post cards. 

"Try this," John was in his face unexpectedly, holding something up to his lips. He must have zoned out.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Maple candy."

Sherlock grimaced. "That sounds disgusting." He couldn't even be sure he knew what exactly a maple candy was or how it was made. It was not the type of delicacy people back home often enjoyed.

John gave him an exasperated expression. "Just try it. You can't know if you're like it until you try it."

"I know my taste. It will be too sweet. Why don't you try it first?"

"I have. It tastes like maple syrup. It's good. Try it."

Sherlock glanced at where his parents were watching from nearby, his mother grinning eagerly. He sighed. "Fine, but if I get sick it's your fault."

John fed the amber colored maple leaf shaped candy to him. It was a candy that seemed hard at first but almost immediately crumbled and dissolved in his mouth. It did indeed taste quite similar to maple syrup.

John was beaming at him excitedly. "How was it?"

Sherlock answered honestly. "Not as bad as I thought."

John chuckled. "You like it. Admit it."

"It was alright," he said.

"I'm buying a box!" John declared cheerfully, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before hurrying off to the cash register.

Sherlock barely resisted an urge to touch his cheek, standing there in shock. All he could think of was the taste of sugar on his tongue and the feeling of John's lips against his cheek. His face grew warm with embarrassment. He told himself his heart was only racing because he was experiencing a sugar rush from the candy.

John joined him, clutching a red paper bag in hand. His free hand found one of Sherlock's. He looked at their joined hands then at his mother's smile. Did her face hurt yet from smiling so much? His parents were ssuch fools. Why did this make them so happy? He would never understand it.

"We can share these candies later tonight after dinner," John suggested. "I'll help you with your research and maybe we can make a break in the case. We can stay up all night if we have to."

That sounded like a decent plan to him. "Okay, deal."

His parents became distracted by some decorative pillows for sale so he and John moved to follow them. Before they could cross the street, a teenage girl stopped them. "Aren't you Sherlock Holmes, the detective?" she asked.

"No autographs," he replied. "I don't have time for pictures."

"Sherlock," John scolded him, releasing his hand

The girl simply shook her head, apparently unoffended. "It's not that. I actually need your help. My boyfriend's gone missing."


	12. Twelve

"Your boyfriend has probably run away," Sherlock told the girl.

He tried to step around the girl but she wasn't having it. She moved to block his path. Though she was much shorter than him, she didn't let it stop her from standing up to the detective. "He didn't run away!" She insisted. "You're the only one who can find him. You have to help."

"I don't have to do anything."

John took pity on the girl. After all, she was just a kid. "We'll need some more details about your boyfriend. We'll have to ask you a few questions."

She nodded quickly. "Of course. I can tell you anything you need to know."

They agreed to meet the girl at a nearby coffee shop in an hour, then headed to find Sherlock's parents.

"This is a waste of my time," Sherlock complained. "Her boyfriend probably ran off with another girl."

"So then they'll solve it quickly. Besides, what else are you doing with your time that's so important? Would you rather stay here shopping all day?"

Sherlock sighed, clearly defeated.

"There's been a new lead in the case," John told Sherlock's parents upon locating them where they were currently browsing cook books.

"Don't tell me the two of you are running off again," She said, putting her hands on her hips.

"I'm afraid so," he said. "I'm so sorry to cut our outing short. I had a lovely time, though."

She frowned but waved her hand in the air dismissively. "At least we had a few hours to spend together. I guess I should feel lucky for that. Go on ahead then."

If it was Sherlock telling her that they were going off to solve crimes she would have argued more, but she liked John and when he was respectable and polite she couldn't fight him. It was both annoying and amusing.

They arrived at the coffee shop and placed their orders, coffee for John and tea for Sherlock. The young male barista with the short stylish hair winked at Sherlock as they took their beverages. 

"Was he flirting with you?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "Didn't notice."

"Right," John said, sounding as if he didn't believe him.

They joined the girl at a table in the back where she was sipping an iced tea, pausing occasionally to pour in numerous sugar packets.

"This is him," she showed them a picture on her cell phone. The boy was grinning and shirtless with a mop of dark blond hair. He looked no different than any other teenage boy really.

John wrote down the basics. His name was Breydan Thomas. His age was 18. The girl, Brianna, attended high school with him and started dating him shortly before they graduated this summer.

"I last saw him yesterday afternoon," she told them. "He was going to go fishing at a pond."

"Where exactly did you last see him?" Sherlock asked.

"Heading down the dirt road by his house towards the woods."

"Was he carrying a fishing pole?"

"No, but I figured he was meeting up with some of his guy friends and would use one of theirs."

Sherlock rested his chin on his fingers, thinking. "Interesting."

"Did he often go fishing at this pond? Did he usually bring a fishing pole?" John asked.

"He did go fishing a lot," she said, nodding quickly. "He didn't always bring a fishing pole. It's just not like him to not come home by dark though. He's never gone missing before. He didn't leave any signs or hints that he was planning on running away, didn't even take his car keys. He was perfectly happy when I saw him. He never ignores my text messages but no one has heard from him, not even his parents."

"We'll have to speak to his parents and the local police," Sherlock told her.

"Thank you for taking this case," she said. "I know you can find him."

She left then so he and John started putting calls in. "Do you think this has anything to do with the Hunter murders?" John questioned.

Sherlock shook his head. "The Hunter targets women, not teenage boys."

"Do you still think he ran away?"

"it's possible."

"but you'll take the case? you think something else could have happened to him?"

"Yes."

They were just about to leave when they were stopped yet again. Only this time it wasn't a client. 

"John Watson?" a female voice called out. "What are you doing here?"

John turned and was greeted by his ex-girlfriend. "Mary Morstan? I should be asking you the same question."

"I'm visiting my aunt," She replied, pulling John into an embrace. "Its so good to see you again. You look well."

"Good to see you too," John agreed, grinning. "We're actually here vacationing with Sherlock's family."

"Oh, that's so nice."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Was this seriously happening? Why did Mary's aunt have to live here and why did Mary have to be visiting her now? He found Mary to be annoying and it was frustrating having their case interrupted by a reunion like this. The sooner Mary went away, the sooner they could return to the case which was much more interesting than Mary Morstan.

"Sherlock," she turned to him now with a smile that he could not return. "How have you been? Working on anything exciting?"

This was part of what he despised about her. She liked him for some reason and was inexplicably determined to be friends with him. She was actually quite intelligent but she had a complicated history of lying and manipulating people. It made him distrust her, but it was also part of what probably attracted John to her in the first place. He knew the truth though. Mary was no good for John. She was bad news and it was best to stay as far away from her as possible.

"I'm wonderful, Mary," He said. "But now that You mention it, we really are quite busy. We must be going." He wasn't going to tell her anything and let her get involved in their lives again or allow her to use him for information.

"John," she put a hand on John's shoulder. "We really must catch up."

"Yeah, definitely," he agreed, smiling like an idiot. Had he forgotten why they broke up?

Sherlock pulled his phone out and held it up to his ear. "That's Lestrade," he announced. "We'd better go." He tugged John towards the door.

"I didn't hear your phone ring," John muttered.

"Chat with you later," Mary waved. She was a snake and Sherlock was already thinking of ways to get rid of her.


	13. Thirteen

"I can't eat. I can't sleep. All I can do is worry about him out there in the woods somewhere cold and hungry."

Mrs. Thomas was crying, causing mascara to run down her face and stain her cheeks. John was sympathetic enough to hand her a napkin to dry her eyes.

Sherlock remained unconvinced."He's never run away before?" He asked. "Did you have an argument or observe him in a bad mood before he disappeared? Nothing out of the ordinary?"

The boy's mother shook her head. "No, he wouldn't run away. He wouldn't do this and let us go on worrying about him. I'm afraid something terrible has happened to him."

"We'll figure this out," John promised her. "We'll find him."

She nodded, forcing a small appreciative smile. "Thank you. I know he's out there somewhere. I haven't lost hope."

They left her sitting at the gazebo outside her home and returned to the cabin. Sherlock immediately grabbed John's laptop and perched himself in the window seat in their bedroom overlooking the lake.

"I don't understand why you didn't bring your own computer." John muttered, shaking his head as he sat on their bed.

"Why would I do that when I knew you were bringing yours?

"Right," John said. "What are you looking up?"

"The boy's phone records. His girlfriend was more than happy to give me all the information I needed."

John raised an eyebrow. "You've got his phone records?"

"Not exactly," he admitted. "But I was able to retrieve his last ping."

"His last what?"

"Cell phones that are turned on constantly send pings to cell phone towers constantly in order to find the nearest strongest signal. The towers keep a log of the pings." Sherlock didn't always mind explaining things to John. Sometimes he liked having an opportunity to show off how smart he was.

"And what does that tell you?" John asked.

"His girlfriend saw him leaving around 1 in the afternoon. His last cell phone ping was about two hours later still in town."

"So he could be lost in the woods? Maybe his phone died."

"He could be. It's still also possible that he ditched his phone and ran away."

Suddenly John's own cell phone began to ring, startling them both. He fumbled for it in his pocket and answered it quickly. "Mary," he said.

Hearing her name was like a punch to the gut. Sherlock glared at John.

"Yes, it was nice seeing you," John said, apparently ignoring Sherlock's obvious disapproval. "I do want to catch up with you."

"John," Sherlock complained.

Again he was ignored as John continued to speak to Mary. "That sounds great. I'll see you soon."

He put his phone back in his pocket. 

"You can't go see her!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Why not?"

"Because we're in the middle of a case."

"You're capable of doing research on your own and I'll be back soon."

"Don't go. The case-"

"I know you don't like Mary but I don't think you gave her enough of a chance. If you got to know her better then you might see a different side to her. I'm leaving now." John put his shoes on and was already walking out the door. "I'll be back soon. And do not call me unless it's an actual emergency. Goodbye."

Sherlock knew that there was no good side to Mary. She was just a liar. Why couldn't John see that? John wasn't usually this stupid. Was it because he was just deceived by her pretty face?

She told John that she was an orphan but Sherlock had found out it wasn't true and that Mary was actually her middle name. It was obvious that she was nothing but a liar and a manipulator and she was still clearly manipulating John right now.

He tried his best to focus on the cases, but he kept worrying about John too much to focus on anything else.

The hour that John was gone seemed to last forever. He was relieved when John returned but that relief didn't last long. Much to his dismay, he found John accompanied by Mary, sitting together by the lake.

"What is she doing here?" Sherlock asked John.

Mary smiled sweetly. It was sickening. 

"Be nice," John scolded him.

"You don't mind giving us some privacy, do you?" Mary asked Sherlock.

"I actually do mind."

John sighed. "Mary, it really was great catching up. I promised I would help Sherlock with the case, though. I'll talk to you later. Maybe we can meet up again soon."

"I would like that," she said, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

They hugged goodbye. Sherlock wanted to puke.

"Why can't you be nicer to her? She just wanted to talk."

Sherlock frowned. "Yes, well, I don't like the way she talks to you."

"What?"

"She manipulates you."

"That's crazy."

"She wants you to be her boyfriend again."

John shrugged. "Maybe."

"I have a very bad feeling about this, John, and I never ignore my intuition."

When they returned to the cabin, Mycroft was just finishing up a phone call.   
"Sherlock," he said.

"I don't want to talk to you," Sherlock said, trying to avoid his older brother.

"They caught the killer."

That stopped Sherlock in his tracks. "Who?"

"The police caught that killer, the Hunter. A young woman he attacked last night escaped and lead the police right to him. He was found dead in his home. He shot himself."

This vacation was turning into a nightmare. Not only had Mary returned, he had failed to solve the case. No justice had been served. He was a failure, too distracted by his parents and his fake relationship with John. He didn't feel like a great detective at all. He just wanted to go home and drown himself in the strongest alcoholic beverage he could find.


	14. Fourteen

It was only a couple days later when John stabbed Sherlock in the heart. Or that's what it felt like when he walked outside to see John kissing Mary. She had the nerve to smile and wave at Sherlock before she got into her rental car and drove off.

"Why were you kissing her?" Sherlock demanded.

"Mary and I are dating again."

"Why?"

"Because I'm actually quite fond of her."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was going eventually, when I found the right way. I knew you'd be upset, that you wouldn't understand. It's no secret that you don't approve of her."

Sherlock shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at John coldly. "You didn't tell me because you thought I'd be devastated?" He chuckled, and it sounded bitter even to his own ears. "I dont need your pity."

"That's not-" John started to try to defend himself.

"I don't want to hear any excuses. Just make sure no one else sees You with her or you''ll ruin everything. We're still supposed to be a couple."

"Its just fake, though. I don't want any of this to actually ruin our friendship."

Sherlock didn't even want to look at John anymore. This was all so ridiculous. "You're right. It is fake. All of this will be over soon." His heart was racing and he felt like he was suffocating. His instincts told him to run, escape, fight or flight. He wanted more than anything to make it all stop.

"Right," John sounded unsure if he should be worried or not, thrown off most likely by Sherlock's calm reasonable tone.

"I'm going to get food at that diner in town," He announced. "I'll bring you something back."

"I could go with you," John offered.

"No, I just want to take a walk around town on my own. I need to clear my head, really focus on this missing person case." He couldn't let this baseball through his fingers like the other. How could he have failed? He couldn't afford any distractions.

John hesitated for just a moment, then he nodded quickly. "Alright, I'll see you soon then."

Sherlock did go into town, stopping first to buy cigarettes. He sat on a bench near some old train tracks and smoked a couple. When he was on the second ciggarette, he couldn't help but notice a young man gazing at him. What was it with the teenagers around here? Did this one have a missing boyfriend too? Though, that might make the case more interesting at least. He didn't want to admit it, but this missing person case had left him feeling stuck. He was a little afraid that he could fail this one too.

The teenager finally approached and stated his purpose. "Do you want to buy some weed? I know a guy who could hook you up with the good shit."

Sherlock laughed. He couldn't help himself. "Weed? Oh, that's funny."

The teenager looked rather offended. "Fuck off."

"Yeah, you too," he finished his cigarette and sighed. "Unless..."

The boy raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of whatever he might be about to say. He had started to walk away, but paused now to listen.

"Unless you know where I could find something a little stronger than weed?"

The teenager grinned. "I think I can help you out with that."  
\---

Mycroft dragged him home sometime around midnight. "We were afraid you'd gone and gotten yourself killed," he said.

"Drama queen," Sherlock complained, waving his hand in the air dismissively.

"Oh, I'm the drama queen here? Really, brother, take a look at yourself. You're a mess."

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes in response.

"Where's the list?"

"What?" He pretended to not know what his older brother was talking about. He found this whole process tedious.

"The list, Sherlock!" Mycroft was raising his voice, apparently not amused by his behavior. "The list of everything you've taken."

"Are you kidding me?" John demanded. "Where dis you even find drugs in the middle of nowhere? You're unbelievable."

"Thank you."

John frowned. "That wasn't a compliment."

"Give me your list." Mycroft held his hand out expectantly.

Sherlock reached into his pocket and produced a folded up piece of pink paper. John snatched it away before Mycroft even could.

"This is a church flyer for a bake sale," He said.

"My list is on the back." Did John always have to be that slow? Would he have to explain everything to him forever?

"Nice," John complained, turning the paper over. "Shit. This is not good. You're such an ass. Why would you do this?"

John really was slow.

"Let's get you to bed before our parents see you," Mycroft suggested.

Sherlock found that he was exhausted. As soon as he kicked his shoes off and crawled under the blankets, he quickly fell into a deep sleep.  
Nightmares plagued him the entire time. He was standing on a rooftop and there was someone standing in the distance. He tapped them on the shoulder and the person turned to face him. "Miss me?" It was Moriarty and he was smiling.

"Moriarty," he said.

"Here we are at last."

"Just us?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course not. What kind of party would that be?"

Sherlock was confused. "This is a party."

"No."

"What?" He was struggling to make sense of this.

John walked over now. "You failed, Sherlock. You're just a joke. You're not a genius. You can't solve any cases. You're not a puzzle solver, you're just a drama queen."

He shook his head. "No, I'll solve this."

"What about the monster?"

"What monster? There never was any monster."

There was a loud howling in the distance, as if from a hound. 

Irene was there now. She held a gun pointed at his chest. "You're such a fool. I can't believe you ever thought I loved you. I really pulled one over on the great Sherlock Holmes, didn't I?"

"Shut up," he told her.

"This is how I want you to remember me," she continued. "The woman who beat you."

"This doesn't make any sense," he said.

"It doesn't," Moriarty agreed. "Because it's not real. None of it. Kind of like your fake relationship with John Watson. You don't really love him. Or maybe you do. I can never tell."

"What do you want?"

"What I always want, to see you fall. And trust me, you will fall! But Sherlock, it's never the fall that kills you."

He laughed and so did Irene. She pulled the gun's trigger in slow motion. 

He looked to John and said "Goodbye, John."

He was falling now. He kept falling forever. He could hear John's voice begging him "One more miracle, stop being dead."

He fell into someone's arms. John had caught him. He smiled at John and said "I heard you. You should know John, I always survive a fall."


	15. Fifteen

Sherlock awoke as John dragged him and shoved him into a cold shower, fully clothed. "You cock!" He was shouting.

Sherlock gasped as the cold water hit him in the face and drenched his clothes. He weakly attempted to shove John away, feeling kind of like he was drowning. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" John demanded. "You're such an ass."

Sherlock resigned himself to the punishment from John, knowing that he most likely deserved it. When John decided that he was clean and awake enough, he pulled him out of the shower and threw a towel at him.

"Dry off," he instructed. "We need to have a serious conversation."

Sherlock took his time drying off and dressing, dreading the conversation. He sat on their bed while John paced back and forth in front of him. John always seemed to come a little unhinged at times like these, when Sherlock seemed to be spiraling out of control. 

"I hate it when you do this," John said without looking at him. "Its a waste of your mental skills. You don't even care that you're ruining yourself for everyone. Sherlock, people need you."

"Do you?"

John stopped pacing then and looked at him. "Yes, of course I do."

Sherlock suddenly felt guilty. "Sometimes I need to alleviate boredom."

"You didn't do this because you were bored." It wasn't a question.

"I needed to heighten my thought process. For the case."

John shook his head. "That's not true. You did this because you've angry at me for being with Mary. You don't like her and acted out like a child."

"I don't like Mary," he could agree with that part at least.

"Why?"

"Because she is a liar. We've already discussed this."

"So what? You're a liar too. You lie all the time. It's practically your mission."

Sherlock sighed. He forced the words out. "I'm sorry."

John was caught off guard by the apology. All of the anger drained from him as he sat down beside his friend. "You could have talked to me. You didn't have to go out and do that. Please, don't go do that again. Promise me."  
Sherlock looked at John and he couldn't say no to him. John cared so much about him and was so sad to see him this way. He didn't want John to worry about him. He didn't want John to be disappointed in him or to think less of him. "I promise."

It was true that John was his only real friend. He had family members, people he worked with, people who sold him drugs, but only one friend and that was John Hamish Watson. He absolutely could not ruin his only friendship. The truth was, he cared a great deal for John. Before he'd met John he always thought he didn't need a best friend. Now he couldn't imagine a life without John in it. And there was no one he would rather have by his side than John. John was an extraordinary man and maybe Sherlock should at least try to be better for him.

It was not easy to swallow the fact that if he wished to remain friends with John, it meant putting up with Mary. Still, he would do it for John. He would pretend that he could accept Mary. Hopefully John would wisen up and get rid of Mary before she could cause too much damage. But in the meantime he would pretend. He was good at lying. He did it all the time. John was right about that.

John made a sandwich for himself and for Sherlock for lunch, which Sherlock took to be a sort of peace offering. "I've been thinking," he said. "About a lot of things."

"You're a genius, aren't you always thinking about a lot of thing?" John teased him.

"Yes" Sherlock answered. "If you want to be with Mary, I can't stop you."

"I'm glad you realize that."

"About the case..."

"Yes?"

"What do you think?"

"What do I think? What about you? Don't you already have a theory?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Not yet. The case seems so simple, but I can't get a good enough lead to go on. I can't piece it all together. Do you see anything I'm missing?"

Sherlock was struggling and he couldn't use drugs anymore to heighten his thought processes. John may not be a genius but he was undeniably helpful in solving many cases. He had different skills than Sherlock, was better with people, and Sherlock trusted him. His opinion mattered whether it seemed like it or not.

After a moment of thought, John said "No one has found him yet. No one has heard from him. His cell phone is still off. No sign of him at all."

Officials including state and local police and the fire department, game wardens, and civilian volunteers had been searching the woods to no avail.

Sherlock had to admit that it was strange that there was no sign of this kid by now but he couldn't be sure what had happened to him.

"I really think something bad happened to this boy, Sherlock."

John sounded very sure. Maybe he was right. Maybe something sinister was going on in the woods.

Sherlock sighed. "Mary will be here for you soon."

"What?" John seemed startled by the sudden statement.

"Any minute now she'll be at the door wearing a pink dress and a scarf in her hair, those big sunglasses she's so fond of. She thinks they make her look like a movie star but I find them a bit ridiculous, too big for her face really."

John stared at him with wide eyes. "That's amazing! How do you know all if that?"

"I can see her out the window," Sherlock admitted.

A moment later there was a knock on the door and it was Mary of course.

Sherlock stood with her in the doorway while John went to change his clothes for the date with her. Sherlock talked about an unrelated case from the past, because that was the easiest subject for him to talk about. "But it was all a facade," he finished his story, putting emphasis on the word facade. "Remind you of anyone?"

She was a lying snake and he despised her. When John wasn't here to see it, he wouldn't pretend that he liked her.

She smiled. "I know what you really are, Sherlock Holmes," she said. "You are nothing but a junkie who solves crimes to get high."

Sherlock frowned. "I never said I was a hero. Tell me, Mary, who are you really?"

"You don't know?" She looked amused now. "I thought you were clever."

"I am. But so are you," he admitted.

She laughed.

John returned then. "Good to see you two getting along," he said.

Sherlock waved goodbye to them, even as his stomach did somersault at the thought of the two of them together on a date.


	16. Sixteen

They took a walk together in the woods, discussing the case and sweating in the summer sun, spending time alone together to keep up the charade of being a couple. 

"Let's go for a swim," John suggested, suddenly stripping his shirt off and leaving it in the dirt on his way towards the lake.

The water did look quite irresistibly cool and refreshing. "I'm not wearing my swim clothes," He pointed out. 

"That's okay," John said. "We don't need them." He had kicked off his shoes and was taking his shorts off, leaving him only in a pair of blue boxers.

Sherlock looked away quickly, and when he looked again John was already in the water up to his waist. His back was to Sherlock as he said "The water feels great! Hurry up and get in!"

"There's more work to do," Sherlock protested, thinking of the case, trying to escape this situation.

"Let someone else do it," John said. "There are plenty of people searching. They'll let us know when they find something."

Sherlock sighed. As John swam and ducked under the water, Sherlock stripped and hurried to join his friend in the water, realizing that there was no escape. John swam over to him and splashed him playfully. He was grinning and so happy that Sherlock didn't mind having to stop working for a little while. It was worth it to see John this way. Sherlock wanted to stay in this moment forever, alone with John, carefree in the sunshine. 

He watched as John swam, noticing his newly tanned skin and the way the water washed over Johns muscles. He looked handsome and almost youthful this way. It made Sherlock feel something strange in the pit of his stomach. He shook it off, best not to analyze it. This moment was meant to be enjoyed, not analyzed.

He closed his eyes and floated on the water, feeling weightless. For a few moments his troubles faded and his mind was as calm as it could be. He wished that feeling could last.

He kept his eyes to himself and his back turned to John as they dressed. He checked his cell phone and saw a missed call and voicemail from Lestrade. There had been a new lead in the case. "Hurry, John," he said. He grabbed John's hand, pulling him along.

"Did they find something?" John asked. He didn't even try to pull away from Sherlock's grasp.

"Someone," Sherlock corrected.

"A body?"

"No."

Their hands stayed locked until they got into the car that had been sent to retrieve them.

They were briefed of the situation upon arrival at the local police station before they were ushered into a room where a young girl sat sipping a glass of water alone at a table. She had long blond hair pulled into a pink scrunchie at the top of her head and sparkly bracelets all down her thin arms. She had on a boys sweater that was too big for her, which Sherlock immediately deduced to be belonging to her boyfriend. She had pink metal braces on her teeth and didn't look old enough for the smudged eye makeup on her freckled face.

John shook her hand, introducing himself and Sherlock politely. He wanted to make her feel comfortable of course. This was a delicate topic. "My name is John Watson and this is my friend Sherlock Holmes. We work with the police and we're just here to ask you a few questions about your friend Braden if you don't mind."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Where did you meet him?" Sherlock asked.

"Facebook," she said. "We texted each other everyday."

"How often did you see each other in real life?"

The girl shrugged. "Pretty often. I guess about once a week."

"When did he last text message you?"

"The day he went missing, that afternoon."

They had been shown a copy of the text message that the missing boy had sent about an hour after he'd supposedly left to go fishing. It read 'I fell and I think my ankle's twisted.'

"No response after that?"

She shook her head. "No, I texted him a couple times asking where he was and if he was okay but he never responded."

"What exactly was your relationship with Braden?"

The girl bit her lip nervously. She wouldn't make eye contact with them as she said "We were just friends."

"Just friends?" Sherlock pressed her for more information, leaning in closer and raising an eyebrow skeptically.

She shrugged again.

"Sherlock," John said, a warning to back off, that he was crossing a line.

"Just friends?" Sherlock repeated.

"Maybe, I don't know. I didn't know he had another girlfriend. He never told me that."

And that was all Sherlock needed to hear. 'Another girlfriend' She saw herself as this guy's girlfriend. But besides the fact that he was a was clearly a liar and a cheater, he had a relationship with this girl that was inappropriate. She was only 15, underage. 

"Thank you," John told her as they left. "You've been very helpful."

Theories were running wild in Sherlock's head. He and John took dinner to their bedroom to discuss the case, much to his mother's dismay. 

"Sorry," John had told her sheepishly before they hurried away with their plates.

They sat together on the bed and Sherlock picked at his food absentmindedly while spouting theories. Was the text message true? Was he injured? Did he hit his head and get confused? Did he wander off somewhere? Or was the text message another charade? Maybe an excuse to avoid girlfriends crossing paths? Was he injured and taken advantage of by someone because of his wounds that possibly left him defenseless? Did a bear get him? Why was there no sign of this boy yet? Why had there been no more text messages? Maybe he had some type of plan to run away with this girl who he had to keep a secret due to her age?

Sherlock steepled his long fingers under his chin as he silently considered the new facts and possibilities.

After a few minutes, John said "I don't want to interrupt your train of thought, but-"

"What is it, John?"

"I really think something terrible happened to this boy, Sherlock. You're right, the local police are idiots. They think he's run off and that it has something to do with this secret girlfriend of his. But I don't think so. We have to solve this case."

Sherlock nodded. "I agree."

"So you think he's dead, then?"

"Yes."

"Do you think that he was murdered?"

"Possibly."

"What are we going to do?"

"Solve the case."


	17. seventeen

"Where are we going today?" John asked as they rode together in the rental car.

Sherlock had woken John this morning, insisting that they had somewhere important to be. John had showered quickly, dressed, and snatched a few pieces if bacon on his way out the door.

"We're going to pay a visit to the boy's fishing buddy," Sherlock informed him. "The girlfriend gave me his name."

"Which girlfriend?"

Sherlock sighed. "The one who asked us to solve the case, John."

The 'fishing buddy' lived with his mother in an almost stereotypical small town country home. The dirt road lead through the trees down to a house with missing shingles and peeling blue paint. The yard was torn up by what appeared to be ATV tracks. There was an old grill, broken lawn chairs, and a rusty bicycle near the back of the house. Overgrown weeds were tangled near the door as they approached and knocked, finding the doorbell was dead.

The teenager they were there to see was not home but his mother was. She wore a striped tank top and short red shorts with a pair of dollar store flip flop sandals. Her wavy blond hair had recently been dyed and was pulled back into a ponytail. Her red lipstick matched the chipped paint on her fingernails, no wedding ring. She was younger than Sherlock expected, late 30's maybe meaning she'd become a mother as a teenager herself.

"He went to see his father out of town," she explained. She had an accent that indicated she'd grown up here her whole life. "He'll be back tomorrow."

"We'll come back to talk to him then," John said quickly.

"Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?" Sherlock interjected.

The woman's eyes momentarily widened, caught off guard. She sighed, shifting in a way that made her seem nervous. "Sure, come on inside."

They walked in to the kitchen. She sat in one of the mismatched chairs at a folding metallic card table. 

"When did you last speak to Braden Thomas?" Sherlock asked.

She considered the question for a moment, swatting at a fly hovering near an open can of soda. The only sound was her noisy fan by the window that seemed to be useless at cutting the humidity. John wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

"Four days before he went missing," She said finally.

"Did anything seem out of the ordinary? How was his mood?"

She shrugged. "Everything was normal."

Sherlock caught sight of something on the counter, a lighter. Not cigarettes, he didn't smell nicotine. "What did you talk about?"

Again she shrugged. "I don't remember."

"Did you see him in person or did you speak on the telephone?" 

"He messaged me online."

"What will I find if I check those messages?"

She took a slow sip from the soda can. "He asked me if I knew anyone he could buy marijuana from. I said I didn't. He was looking to buy just a little and he wanted it in four or five days."

John coughed, clearly taken aback by all of this new information. Sherlock glared at him.

"Why would he ask you?" Sherlock questioned. "Do you sell marijuana? Have you ever provided him with marijuana before?"

"No, nothing like that," she shook her head.

Sherlock didn't believe her. 

"My son sometimes smokes marijuana," she said. "Nasty habit." She wouldn't make eye contact with him. "I told him to stop but you know how kids are."

She was clearly lying. She was a very bad liar.

"Did you see him or speak to him the day he went missing? Did he go fishing with your son?"

"I didn't. And I don't know. My son doesn't always tell me what he's doing."

"Does he often go fishing with Braden Thomas?"

"Yes, he does."

"Let's go," Sherlock suddenly headed for the door.

"Thank you for your time," John said. "We'll be in contact soon."

As soon as they were in the car together Sherlock announced "She's a liar."

"What do you mean?" John asked. "What do you think she was lying about?"

"I know she was lying," he corrected. "She's obviously involved in the marijuana and she must have provided it to the boy. A teenage boy wouldn't just ask his friends mother about illegal drugs unless she was involved in them herself."

"Why didn't she just say that?"

"Perhaps because the drugs are illegal and she fears arrest or potential damage to her reputation."

"Or...?" John prompted, knowing Sherlock well enough to sense that there was more to this story.

"Or maybe she didn't want anyone to know about her crush on the boy. It's hardly appropriate."

"Really?" John gasped. "Are you sure?"

Sherlock nodded. "Positive."

"Wow... this boy has a lot of admirers."

"Its disgusting," Sherlock said, starting the car.

"The boy was a cheater. Like Irene."

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel at the name. "I contestant to talk about her. She has nothing to do with this case."

"Its good to talk about it sometimes," John encouraged. "It can help you to heal."

"You're being ridiculous. Stop making a fool of yourself."

"Sherlock-"

"Let's get lunch," Sherlock cut him off.

"I can't. I'm meeting Mary. We can eat dinner together later tonight, though."

Sherlock felt sick at the mention of Mary. "Im not hungry anymore."


	18. eighteen

Sherlock couldn't just stay at the cabin all alone while John was visiting Mary. It would look suspicious since they were supposed to be a couple in love an therefore spending time together. Besides, Sherlock didn't really want to deal with his family alone. That was the whole reason he had brought John along on this stupid vacation, wasn't it?

So he took a walk down to the lake, making himself comfortable beneath a shady tree with a book. Still, he found that it was hard to focus. His mind was racing. He kept thinking of the case. And Irene. And Mary. Liars and cheaters, all of them. John wasn't here to discuss the case with. He wasn't allowed any drugs. So he called the only person he could when in a situation like this.

"Did I catch you at work? " He asked, gazing at the face on his phone screen. "I thought you might be on break."

She smiled at him, clearly delighted that he had called. She missed him. Maybe part of him had kind of missed her too. Sometimes it was refreshing to be in the presence of such a sweet simple soul, a rare gem in the world of crime he lived in everyday.

"I'm on break," she confirmed. "So happy you called. I wasn't expecting it. How's your vacation going? Where's John?"

"Dreadful," he answered. "I'll be relieved when it's over. John ran into Mary so they are off catching up with each other or something like that."

She chuckled. He liked that sound.The tension and anxiety he felt began to fade. 

"Hold on, Molly, I've got a text." He read the message quickly. It was from John. 

'Be back soon. Hope Mycroft hasn't killed you yet. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.'

He smiled as he read the message, glad to know that John was thinking of him even while out with Mary.

"If I didn't know better I would say you have a crush on someone," Molly said.

"Its nothing like that. It was just John."

"Oh..." She seemed unsure what to make of that.

"I like your better when it's away from your face," he said.

She frowned, hurrying to pull her hair back. "Sorry."

"I've been working on a case," he said. Then he found himself pouring everything out to her. She was easy to talk to. He told her about the case and about Irene cheating on him and how he was annoyed that Mary was here because he didn't trust her. 

"There's something I've noticed about you and John, especially when Mary's around." She shook her head suddenly. "I shouldn't say anything."

"What is it?" He encouraged her.

"You're sad."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sad?"

"When he's not looking at you, I see it. You don't hide it then, how sad you are."

What did that even mean? It was a strange thing to say to someone. 

"I Don't know what you're talking about," he said. "I should go. John will be home soon."

He arrived at the cabin to see Mary and John saying goodbye, saw the way her hand lingered on his arm.

"Sherlock," John waved at him cheerfully. 

"I'm feeling ill," he said, hurrying past John. "The heat is getting to me. I need to lie down."

He practically ran in order to get to bed, collapsing into his pillows gratefully. He hid his face, Molly's words echoing in his mind.

John soon came in and walked over to him. "Sherlock," his voice was full of concern. "Look at me."

Sherlock rolled onto his side to face John.

John put a hand to Sherlock's forehead. Then his fingers moved to Sherlock's wrist, feeling his pulse. "What's wrong?" 

Sherlock felt oddly hyper aware of John's touch, his cool fingers on his warm skin. Perhaps because of the way he'd just seen Mary touching John in that seemingly adoring way. He saw through Mary's lies. Why didn't John? It was difficult to be angry when John was touching him and gazing at him all worried. John was completely focused on him now, forgetting all about Mary.

"I must have stayed out too long in the sun," Sherlock told him, shamelessly wanting more of John's sympathy. John needed to forget Mary forever because She was nothing but trouble. "I really don't feel well, John. I think I have heat stroke."

John smiled. "You don't have heat stroke, Sherlock. But maybe you did get too much Sun. You need to rest and cool down for a little while. That means relaxing and taking a break from the case for tonight."

Sherlock could take a short break from the case if it meant keeping John away from Mary. "Doctors orders?" 

John nodded. "Doctors orders."

"You're a good, doctor," Sherlock said, relaxing back against the pillows.

"Thank you, I try my best."

They spent the rest of the night in bed watching movies on Netflix and playing cluedo. John brought him dinner in bed and plenty of water to help with the not-quite-heat-stroke. They laughed together and no one mentioned Mary or the case. 

When he awoke the next morning he found John sleeping peacefully, an arm thrown around Sherlock's waist. The detective couldn't help but smile.

As they ate breakfast together, he told John that he'd spoken to Molly. "I thought I'd check in with her," he said casually, not wanting to admit he'd pretty much spilled his guts to her.

"That poor girl is so in love with you," John told him.

"What? No, she isn't." Why would John even think such a crazy thing? Was he making a joke?

"She is," John insisted, completely serious. "Everyone knows it."

"Oh... " Sherlock thought of all his interactions with Molly and wondered if he'd missed something. Was she really in love with him? Why?

"Do you have feelings for her?"

Sherlock nearly choked on his toast. He coughed and reached to take a sip of His orange juice. He cleared his throat. "Feelings?" He pretended not to know what John was talking about. He did not want to discuss this.

"Even you must have... impulses."

This was too much. John wasn't seriously suggesting that he would want to... with Molly? "John, this is ridiculous," he complained.

"This is a perfectly normal conversation. No reason to be embarrassed."

"Just stop," He begged. 

"You and Irene must have... You know."

Sherlock sighed. John wasn't going to drop this subject, was he? "Of course."

"And since then you've done things with other people?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Just Irene."

John stared at him in shock. "What?"

Mycroft walked into the room just then. "Good morning John, little brother..."

Sherlock had never been so thrilled to see his older brother as he was in this moment. John finally let the subject drop. But his words stayed with Sherlock later that afternoon when he was alone. John was out with Mary again, much to Sherlock's dismay.

"Do you have to? We have to work on the case," he'd tried to keep John from leaving. "What if I get heat stroke again?"

"I'll only be gone an hour. I'm sure you'll be fine for that long. If it's a real emergency, Mycroft will call me."

All he could do was pout and lock himself away in the bedroom. He called Molly almost immediately, not wanting go be alone with himself.

Molly smiled at him. Her hair was up and she was wearing the lipstick that Sherlock had complimented in the past. He remembered what John had said 'so in love with you.' Maybe he was right.

She was pretty in a subtle natural way. She didn't know that She didn't need the makeup. Sherlock thought of her soft skin and the way her hair smelled of the floral scent of her shampoo. She was petite and feminine and the opposite of what he wanted right now. This was no good.

He had to fix this. She was too good for him. She deserved better. And the last thing he wanted to do was lead her on. He valued her friendship and she needed to know that. 

"How are you today," Molly asked him.

"Gay," he mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

He didn't know if she'd heard him or not. "Great," he said.

She frowned. "You don't look like you're feeling great."

He nodded slowly. "You're right. Molly, I want you to know that I've always trusted you. I know that I can be honest with you. I'm not great, that's the truth."

Molly was concerned now. "Whats wrong? What do you need?"

She was too sweet. He didn't know why but he felt guilty. "I have feelings for someone else." That seemed like an easy way to let her down even if it wasn't true. He didn't have any feelings for anyone else, did he? Why did he say that instead of just saying no one could replace Irene? What was wrong with him?

"Oh," Molly was caught off guard. She tried not to seem disappointed but he could see that she was sad.

"I hope you find someone special and that you'll be very happy. You deserve it."

She looked like she was going to cry. She sniffled. "I have to go."

"Okay." Sherlock didn't know what else to say. Why did he feel so bad?

'Please come back' He texted John. He never said please. John would know he was serious, that something was wrong and that he needed him.

A couple minutes later he got a text message back from John. 'On my way.'


	19. Nineteen

John smelled of her perfume and it made Sherlock feel sick to his stomach. “I’m all sweaty,” he complained. “It’s hot and I ran right here. But I see now that you’re fine, and there’s no emergency, so I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“I’m sick, John,” Sherlock insisted. “What kind of a doctor are you anyway?”

John shook his head. “You’ll be fine.”

Despite his protests, Sherlock was left alone with Mary.

“What do you want?” Mary asked, once John was out of sigh.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sherlock said.

“I think you’re jealous,” she accused.

“Jealous?” He raised an eyebrow at her skeptically. “Why would I possibly be jealous of you?”

“Because you want John for yourself.”

Sherlock scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

She smiled. “Unlike John, I can tell when you’re fibbing.”

“You’re crazy,” he told her.

“I can’t lose John. I won’t let that happen. I’ll do whatever I have to do in order to keep that from happening.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be.”

He laughed at her defiantly, because he didn’t want to let her win, but inside he felt something breaking.

“Tell John I’ll see him for dinner tonight,” she said, leaving before his family can return home from their outing.

When John emerged from his shower fully dressed, he found Sherlock sitting on their bed with his head in his hands obviously in his mind palace.

“Sherlock?” John asked, approaching him cautiously.

“Stop laughing at me,” he muttered, eyes closed and frowning.

“No one’s laughing at you,” John promised him.

Sherlock’s eyes flew open suddenly. “I can’t breathe,” he gasped.

“You’re having a panic attack,” John told him. “It’s alright. Look at me. Breathe.” He pulled Sherlock into strong embrace. “You’re safe.”

Sherlock managed to take a deep breath, inhaling John’s familiar scent. He truly did feel safe in John’s arms. There was no one he’d trust more with his life than John Watson.   
As he began to calm down, he wiped a single tear from his eyes and sniffled.

“What’s going on, Sherlock?” John asked him. “Talk to me.”

Sherlock simply shook his head. “I don’t want to talk.”

“I can’t leave you like this,” he said. “I’ll cancel my date with Mary.”

It meant everything to him to know that John would cancel on Mary in order to stay with him. But he had a new plan in mind that would fix everything once and for all. Going into his mind palace had solved his dilemma. 

“No, I’ll be fine,” he assured John. “I have some business to take care of with Mycroft. He’ll… keep an eye on me.” As absurd as that was, he knew it would reassure John. Not that he really needed his older brother to babysit him.

“Mycroft? Really?” John was understandably surprised.

“Really.”

John was still hesitant to leave him until Mycroft showed up.

“Brother!” Sherlock practically pounced on him as he walked through the front door of the cabin. “Just the person I need to see.”

Mycroft stared at him like he’d started speaking in a made up language.

“I have some work that I require your assistance with,” he told his brother. “I’ll see you later, John.” He waved to John and tried to usher Mycroft upstairs.

John shrugged. “Alright, then. Call me if you need me!”

Once he and his brother were inside Mycroft’s bedroom, his older brother began to question him. “What is this all about?”

“I do require your assistance with a problem.”

“What kind of a problem?”

“Mary Morstan.”

Mycroft sighed, but he didn’t seem surprised. After a moment he said “I believe I can help with that.”

Sherlock was glad for once to have his brother around. As annoying as Mycroft was, he could be useful in a moment like this. And maybe he wasn’t the worst person in the world, because he did clearly care enough to help his brother and John with this problem called Mary.

Sherlock waited for John to return that night, doing his best to occupy his mind. He found it difficult to focus on the case or anything else that wasn’t John. Still, he managed to resist the urge to text or call John, even when he was out late and he had to make an excuse to his parents for where John had gone.

When John returned, he looked exhausted. He took off his shoes and threw himself down on their bed beside Sherlock.

“Are you alright, John?” he asked.

“No,” John answered, looking up at the ceiling and shaking his head.

“What happened?”

“Mary was arrested,” he said. “Her past caught up with her. You were right, Sherlock. You were right all along.” He sat up and looked at Sherlock with tears in his eyes. “I should have listened to you.”

“I’m sorry, John.” He really was sorry. Not that he’d helped get Mary arrested, because she deserved that. He was sorry that John had to have his heart broken this way. John was a good man, the best Sherlock had ever known, and he deserved better. He deserved someone as special as him who would make him happy. He hated seeing John hurting like this. 

“What did I do all my life to deserve this?” John sniffled. “She did nothing but lie to me since the day I met her.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sherlock attempted to reassure John. John was simply attracted to dangerous situations and people. It was part of what made them friends in the first place. It was a part of who John was. But sometimes he could stand to listen to Sherlock more when he tried to warn him about someone being bad news.

“I’m an idiot.” John wiped his tears on the sleeve of his jumper.

“No, you’re not. You’re really not. You will survive this and there will be someone better than her for you in the end.”

Sherlock didn’t know how to comfort someone but he was trying his best because it was John and he needed him right now. He would do anything for him.

John hugged him tightly, surprising him. He slowly returned the embrace.

“Thanks, Sherlock,” John said, seeming calmer already. “I appreciate it. Let’s get some sleep now.”

Sherlock understood what it was like to think you loved someone and then have them be a liar. It was better in the long run to know the truth even if it was painful, because then you could heal and move on with life and focus on better things. John would survive this and he would help him through it.


	20. Twenty

“Everything she ever said to me was lies,” John said, gazing out the window sadly. He looked lost and exhausted, without purpose, like he did when he returned home from the war. It killed a part of Sherlock to see it, because he didn’t like seeing John sad and because he thought he gave John enough purpose. Was John bored of him? Maybe it was this stupid vacation. Nothing exciting enough ever happened in small towns like this.

“This is for the best,” Sherlock attempted to reassure John. If only he could erase Mary from John’s memory completely. 

John sighed, continuing to stare out the window.

“I don’t like seeing you…” Sherlock started to confess.

John finally turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t like seeing me anymore? Is that why you were acting so weird? Is it something I did? Maybe this vacation wasn’t…”

Sherlock cut him off. “No, I meant that I don’t like seeing you so sad.”

“Oh,” John said. “Sorry.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Don’t apologize.”

They soon reached their destination. The small but semi-busy ice cream stand was a welcome sight to the detective. They had work to do. It would help distract John from thinking of Mary.

John ordered an ice cream sundae. Sherlock elected for an iced tea to sip on. He didn’t understand why John was ‘eating his feelings’ at the moment. It would do no good. They found a picnic table in the back, away from the crowd of rambunctious teenagers in the parking lot. There was a tattered yellow and white striped umbrella over the picnic table, providing them some much needed shade from the harsh sun. There was not a cloud in the sky. Sherlock absentmindedly traced the hearts and initials of young lovers carved into the wooden table and benches. He had an odd urge to add his and John’s names just to say they were here. Young love was so overrated.

“Here they come,” John said, gesturing with his plastic spoon.

Sherlock looked up as a young couple approached. The girl was wearing a pink crop top and short denim shorts, showing off a lot of tan skin and a purple jeweled belly button piercing. Her boyfriend was pale, tall and skinny, and wearing a Star Wars tee shirt. They sat on the opposite side of the table as John introduced them. The girl held a strawberry ice cream cone in one hand, holding her boyfriend’s hand with her other. Sherlock stared at their joined hands for a moment, then pulled out his notebook.

“Sara,” John addressed the girl. “You were friends with Braden?”

She released her boyfriend’s hand and shrugged. “We went to school together. Sometimes I bought weed from him.”

“Oh…” John made a bit of a face.

“No one gives a shit about that around here,” she said, licking her ice cream casually.

“Right,” John said, nodding quickly. “So you weren’t friends then?”

“We weren’t friends but we were cool. He wasn’t rude to me about my heritage.”

“What do you mean?”

“My parents came here from Puerto Rico. They work in a factory. A lot of people make fun of me for that.”

“They do?” John seemed surprised.

“Look around, everyone here is white. They fly confederate flags even though we’re not in the south. You know why? Cause they’re racist.”

Sherlock doubted that the local racism had anything to do with the case and grew bored. “You said you purchased marijuana from Braden? When?”

“Well, I don’t make much money working at the mall, but whenever I have some extra cash I’d hit up. It was my birthday and I’d gotten some money as a gift so I texted Braden that night.”

“How much money? What time?” Sherlock questioned.

“About sixty dollars,” she crunched on her waffle cone. “I think it was around eight, after my birthday dinner.”

“Then what happened?” John asked.

“We agreed to meet the next day.”

“What time did you meet up?”

“A little before noon.”

“Where?” Sherlock asked, pushing his notebook over to John who started taking notes immediately.

“The park, not too far from here.”

Also not far from where Braden had disappeared later that same afternoon.

“I gave him the cash,” she continued. “We smoked some weed. Then I went home.”

“Can I see your phone?” Sherlock asked.

“Sure, but I deleted the text messages. I didn’t want my mom to see them. She wouldn’t like me smoking cause her dad died of lung cancer.” She handed over a beat up iphone with a scratched screen and a peeling Puerto Rico flag sticker on the back.

Meanwhile, John turned his attention to the boyfriend. “Tyler,” he began. “You said on the phone that you might have a tip for us?”

“Braden and I sometimes went fishing together,” the boy said. “Me, him, and Zack.”

Sherlock recognized the name of the boy who’s mother they’d spoken to already.

“The day after Braden went missing, I called Zack’s house and his mom answered. I wanted to know if they’d seen Braden. Zack’s mom said she’d seen him recently before he went missing and that he’d been wanting to buy weed with some money he’d gotten as a graduation gift.”

Sherlock thought for a moment of all these families giving their kids gifts, unaware they’d be using the money to purchase drugs.

“She didn’t want me to tell anyone cause marijuana is illegal, you know.”

Sherlock decided that he really did not like this woman. She was definitely a suspicious character. Still, this was not actually new information the boy was telling them.

“Anything else?” John asked. 

Tyler shook his head. “No, nothing else.”

“Well, thank you both for your help,” John told the teens.

Sherlock wasn’t sure it could really be called ‘help’ if it wasn’t all that helpful.

At least John seemed to be in a better mood on the way back to the cabin, effectively distracted from his misery by the case. “What’s your plan now?” he asked Sherlock.

“I’m working on it,” he replied.

“We have some leads, right?”

“No.” Sherlock shook his head. “No leads.”

“Maybe that woman?” John suggested. 

“Perhaps.”

“The game is on, Sherlock,” John told him. “Solve it.”

Sherlock smiled a little, glad to be working with John again. It made things feel back to ‘normal.’

At least until they got back o the cabin. They stood together for a moment on the porch, John rambling about the case.

“It’s never twins,” Sherlock said.

“It could be,” John argued.

“You have chocolate syrup on your face.” He reached to wipe it away from the corner of John’s lips.

All of a sudden John pulled him closer and they were kissing. John tasted sweet like the ice cream and chocolate. Sherlock wasn’t usually the biggest fan of sweets but right now he didn’t mind it. He was surprised by the kiss but unable to process it completely. His brain was too focused on kissing John back to question it. John’s lips on his, John’s arms around him, their bodies pressed together, it all felt so good.

John held onto him tightly, kissing him fiercely, venting all of his frustrations and emotions. He seemed to need this in some way.

“What…?” Sherlock asked, a little shaken by what had just happened between them.

“Mycroft was looking,” John said.

Sherlock then spotted his brother in the distance pacing and talking on his phone.

“Of course.” He needed to get control of himself. Was he really so starved for affection that he was happy to kiss John? What was wrong with him?

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” John said. 

“You didn’t,” he said. “It’s fine. Let’s go inside before I get another sunburn.”

“Okay.”

That night, Sherlock found himself actually looking forward to going to sleep next to John. It was strange to think about, because the truth was he never wanted to share a bed with any of his other acquaintances or co-workers. But John was different. John was an exception. And having him nearby made Sherlock feel comforted in a way. He slept peacefully, knowing he was safe with John by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to see more of this story, leave a comment letting me know.


End file.
